Riding the Storm
by Erica North
Summary: When an unexpected twist of fate sets the Dragonborn back on her original path, the road to war with Ulfric Stormcloak, Luthien quickly discovers that there is only one way through the chaos unraveling the world around her. She'll have to rid the storm to its height and crash back down with a vengeance. Riding the Storm is the Sequel to Taming the Wolf.
1. Chapter 1

The blaze of the dragon's icy breath swept across their upraised shields, and Luthien could feel the charge of her spell wearing off. She ducked behind Vilkas's shield and rifled through her pack for a potion to strengthen her magic, gulping it down quickly and refocusing her energy. She'd already shouted fire at the damn beast, and that had barely stifled its fury.

"Talos!" Farkas growled, charging in from behind as the dragon landed. "Ice isn't supposed to burn."

"Careful, brother," Vilkas called. He turned his attention to his wife, eyes blazing bright blue in the light of magic as another blast of ice shot out to meet them.

"I've got this, don't worry!" Farkas bellowed, bringing his blade down into the hard scale of the dragon's back with a hearty battle-cry. The dragon roared, sweeping its tale left and sending Farkas flying backward into the mountain behind him. The earth shook under the stomp of its heavy feet and Luthien stumbled into Vilkas.

"You'd think he'd have learned by now," Vilkas shouted, drawing back his bow and releasing an arrow into the dragon's long neck. It screamed with rage, thumping its tale on the ground as he reeled around to face them again.

"Get over there," she nodded toward Farkas. "I'll buy you some time." Luthien summoned her Flame Atronarch and watched as fire writhed in spirals, circling the dragon's cold, silver body, heating its scales until they glowed orange and began to cook the monster beneath its own natural armor. It screamed again, throwing its head back and whirling on her so fast she almost didn't have time to pull Wuuthrad from her back.

She charged, her own battle-cry echoing through the mountains as she swung the axe left, brought it around and chopped right, her third and final blow severing its head from its body. For a moment, the dragon didn't seem to realize it was dead, its body quivering, feet stomping like thunder, and then its body fell with a great crash, the head rolling until it landed just in front of her feet. She kicked it out of her path, her Flame Atronarch hovering in behind her as she ran and knelt in front of Farkas who was clutching his leg and groaning. The dragon's soul followed her, whirling around her, seeping in through her pores and melding with her own soul until she owned it completely.

"Are you all right?" She pushed his hands away to inspect the wound.

"My back is killing me," he moaned, head rolling along the shoulders of his armor as he cracked his neck.

"Don't waste your magic on him. He'll live." Vilkas shook his head and thrust a healing potion into his brother's hands, rising to stand and watching warily as she summoned her magic and held healing hands out to tend to her shield-brother's wounds. "He'll probably get the rest of us killed in the meanwhile, but all hail Farkas. The man who lived to fight another day."

"I had that dragon," Farkas growled. "I could have taken it."

"It's dead now," Luthien soothed their tempers with a calm voice, hoping to steady them both before they started brawling. "That's all that matters. Here," she held out her hand to help Farkas to his feet, the Flame Atronarch behind her dwindling into a pile of ash. "I've used the last of my magic for now, but when I've had time to recharge, I can heal the rest of your aches."

"I'm fine, Lu, really," he assured her.

Vilkas had walked over to the dragon, and bent to search it. "Good, then you'll be strong enough to carry these bones. My pack is full and Luthien should reserve her strength."

"Why do I always have to carry the bones?" Farkas grumbled, walking away from her to kneel down beside his brother and start gathering bones. "I'm not a pack mule, you know."

"They fetch a good price, and Eorlund can use the bones and scales to make stronger armor."

"And I can enchant that armor to make us all invincible," Luthien added, as she approached.

"That's what I'm talking about." Farkas grinned back over his shoulder at her as he loaded the last bone into his pack.

"Warriors are not supposed to be invincible," Vilkas muttered, more to himself than anyone else, but Luthien had still heard him.

He hadn't been happy about her heading into the Mages College above Winterhold, and he'd been even less thrilled about how quickly she'd taken to magic. She'd become Archmage of the College in less than a year, but her studies had kept often away from home. Vilkas had shouldered her responsibilities as Harbinger in her absence, but she knew he'd grown restless waiting for her to come back to him. Still, he'd supported her wishes, even said he understood why she felt the need to fill her mind with arcane wisdom, but she knew he didn't trust magic and probably never would.

Necromancers had killed their parents when the twins were barely more than four years old, and Kodlak had taught them both that a good warrior didn't need magic to get come out triumphant on the other side of a battle. Coupled with that, witches had tricked the Companions centuries before into taking the beastblood, and everything about magic had left a bad taste in his mouth. Luthien had argued with him long into the night before he'd conceded and given in to the idea of her heading up to Winterhold, reminding him that Kodlak had lived most of his life in a world without the threat of dragons always hovering overhead. Magic combined with her ever-growing abilities as Dragonborn could come in handy.

He'd sent Farkas with her, to watch over and keep her out trouble, and though it hurt him that she'd gone so eagerly forward into the unknown without him, he knew he couldn't stand in her way. Proud as he was and dominant as he tended to be, Vilkas had a hard time saying no to her and that was just the way she liked it.

They lived in dangerous times, and magic had saved all three of their skins far more times than she could count. Vilkas couldn't deny that, even if it made him uneasy whenever forced to admit it was true.

He dug out the last dragon bone and dropped it on the ground beside his brother. "That's the last of them. Finish filling your pack and let's be on our way. I'm anxious for home."

"Me too," Luthien admitted catching his gaze in the moonlight.

They'd been out for weeks, the three of them together, hunting dragons in attempt to bring a bit of peace to the land. There were more bones and scale between them than three people should be able to carry, but home was just over the hillside and that night she would curl up in her husband's arms and remind him exactly why he'd married her in the first place two years earlier.

Maybe his seed would finally settle and grow in her womb, and the promise of a coming child would make her still for a while. A baby would hold her in place, keep her at home, where Vilkas longed for her to stay, even if he knew she never could. Not as long as the dragon Alduin still lived, rallying his brethren to burn and destroy everything in their paths until naught was left of Tamriel but an ashen wasteland to lord over. But a baby… Even Vilkas had come to believe that a child was a symbol of hope, and he'd desperately wanted to start a family with her. It just seemed like there was always one more thing that needed done, one more artifact she needed to recover, one more dragon that needed taken care of.

As she slung her heavy pack over her shoulder, and started down the hill, she thought maybe it was finally time.

The brothers were bickering up ahead of her, not about anything serious, but she left them to their disagreement. She'd heard Farkas mention something about eating a slaughterfish for the right amount of coin, and Vilkas insisting it would eat a hole in his stomach even if it was dead. Shaking her head, she grinned to herself. Her life may not have been slow, every moment seeming to pass by so quickly sometimes she could barely grab onto it for more than a second before the moment was gone, but she liked it interesting. Vilkas and Farkas definitely made life interesting, even if the things they argued about were utterly ridiculous sometimes.

She was just thinking about how easily Farkas could drag his incredibly intelligent brother down to his level when she heard a voice call out from the darkness just up ahead. "That's far enough, citizens. This is official Imperial business and not your affair."

"We're just passing through on our way home," Vilkas held up a hand.

"I don't give a damn what you're doing or where you're going. I said that's far enough."

"Hey! Don't talk to my brother like that," she heard Farkas say. "If he says we're just passing through, we're just passing through. We don't give a damn about your business."

There were only three of them, and between them a Stormcloak prisoner in chains. Luthien scanned the hillside for others, then narrowed her gaze back in on the prisoner. She'd seen plenty of Imperials over the last three years, mostly in Solitude, but the sight of their armor never failed to make her stomach churn with nervous acid.

"It's all right," she called out. "We will go around…"

But before the final word had left her mouth, the Imperial guard attacked. A flash of steel and the clang of metal as they charged in, leaving their prisoner unguarded. Farkas drew first, shoving his brother behind him and brandishing his sword like a barbarian. Luthien unslung Wuuthrad from her back and ran forward into battle, taking out one of the Imperials in a single hit that sent the man's body tumbling down the hillside.

"You always have to open your big mouth," Vilkas chastised his brother.

"At least I stuck up for you," Farkas pointed out as they skirmished with the unexpected foe.

"The next time I need you to fight my battles for me, I'll let you kn—"

The end of that sentence was cut off by a gurgling gasp, as sharp steel cut through armor, piercing Vilkas unexpectedly through the chest. Luthien saw the look of surprise on his face as she spun back around to join the battle, and then she saw him fall. As she ran toward him it felt as if time had slowed. Farkas saw it too, terror immediately wiping the teasing smirk from his face and sending him into a battle frenzy. He whirled right, his broadsword striking the guard who'd stabbed his brother, hacking deep into the man's armor.

Blood poured through his fingers when she dropped to the ground beside him, trying to summon her magic to heal him. There was barely even a spark inside her; she'd used it all to recover Farkas, and she felt panic grip her in its jaws and wrench. She didn't even look up to see Farkas finish off the last Imperial guard, but his shadow quickly fell over them, blocking out the light of the moon while Luthien worked the straps of her husband's armor so he could breathe. It didn't help. He gasped for air, flecks of blood spotting his lips and she could hear his lungs filling with it every time he drew a breath.

"It'll be okay," she whispered. "It'll be okay."

"Heal him, gods dammit! What are you waiting for?"

"I used my magic to heal you," she shouted.

She watched the color drain from Farkas's face, but she couldn't trouble herself with his guilt. Not now. She had to figure this out. Had to find a way to stop the bleeding before it was too late.

"No magic," Vilkas shook his head in protest as he choked, reaching out to touch her face. She could feel the warmth of his blood growing cold against her skin. "If this is how I die, then so be it. It is a warrior's death."

"You're not going to die," Farkas said, but there was doubt in his voice and more fear than Luthien could stomach.

"It's all right little brother." In the time she'd known him, she had never seen Vilkas at such peace, but there was calm in his eyes when he searched her face and said, "Today was a good day."

"No," she heard her own voice, but it sounded like it was coming from a million miles away. "No, Vilkas. You can't leave me. Not like this. Not now."

"Look after each other," he rasped, drawing her hands into his brother's and using what little strength he had left to hold them there.

And then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Grief was a strange thing, and some said everyone dealt with it differently, but if one of the great scholars had ever wished to write a book about the stages one went through after losing a loved one, they would only have needed to follow Luthien in the weeks following Vilkas's death.

The first week, she spent hours in her dark room staring at nothing, wrapped in his clothes and breathing in his scent, refusing to believe her lover wasn't going to walk through the door again, as if it had all been some kind of elaborate hoax. She thought of no one at that time, no one but Vilkas. When the shock and disbelief began to wane near the end of the second week, she was overwhelmed with guilt. She could have done something, couldn't she? If she'd only saved her magic…Farkas hadn't even really been hurt that badly. If she'd just carried more potions, she could have healed him and he would have been there with her right now, making love to her, whispering to her in the dark about their future, their unborn children.

As the fourth week came and went, she began to tell herself she should never have taken him with her in the first place, but who was she to think she was any stronger? That she could have actually protected him… saved him…

And then as she neared the sixth week, she felt anger begin boiling slowly inside her, and it was a familiar anger… an anger she recognized as soon as she felt its sting. The Imperials had taken everything she'd ever loved away from her. First her father, then her mother… now Vilkas. If only she'd gone north, like she'd planned three years earlier, none of it would have ever happened. Vilkas would still be alive; Farkas would still be whole. Maybe she would have died on one of Ulfric's battlefields… but then she'd never have even known Vilkas at all.

Would her life have even been worth living without him in it? Would it ever be worth living again?

My thane?" Lydia appeared in the doorway, her long face cast downward. "Farkas is here to see you and he's brought someone else with him. A Stormcloak officer, I think he is."

She'd barely spoken to him since the funeral, and even then it had been impossible to look at him without seeing his brother's face. Lifting her hand to rub the tension from her forehead, Luthien nodded and said, "Send them up."

Farkas appeared first in the doorway, unshaven and haggard, the bags beneath his eyes so large she knew he'd slept about as well as she had in the last two months. He'd lost his brother, but even worse than that, a part of his soul. There were some who believed twins shared a special bond others could never comprehend. She'd thought so little of anyone else's grief but her own that she'd never even imagined what Farkas must be going through. Seeing him, her heart broke all over again, but instead of drawing back into the shadows with her grief, she rose and went to him, letting herself fall against his strong chest as his arms came around her.

"I've been worried about you," he said.

"I've been worried about you too."

"I haven't been sober much." A sad grin jerked at the right corner of his mouth. "It seemed to take the edge off for a little while, but not enough to really dull the pain."

The man behind him shifted his feet, gently clearing his throat and causing Farkas to take a step back from her. As he moved, she saw his companion for the first time and knew him at once. She hadn't seen the man in over three years, but she'd never forgotten him, or the fact that he'd saved her life.

"Ralof?"

"Luthien? Is that you? I never thought I'd see you again."

"You two know each other?" Farkas moved aside, looking between the two of them.

"This woman saved my life when Helgen fell under dragon fire three years ago." Ralof stepped forward, hand out to shake hers, but then he thought better of it, drawing her into a warm hug and clapping her hard on the back. "I waited for you to come to Windhelm, told Ulfric you would bring glory to his army, but you never came."

"There was too much for me here in Whiterun to run off to war."

Ralof nodded, stepping back to look her over. "I heard about your husband. You have my deepest sympathies."

"Thank you."

"Ralof here was the prisoner up on the mountain, the one the Imperial guard was leading to execution the night…"

Luthien felt her brow furrow. "That was you?"

"I ran as soon as the skirmish started, though I wish every day since I hadn't. Those Imperial bastards got what was coming to them, but at a price no other should have had to pay. If only I'd stayed behind… I might have…"

"I've been running over the things I might have done every day since it happened." She lowered her gaze to the floor.

"So have I," Farkas admitted. "And I realized I can't go back and change it, but I can avenge him. That's why I'm here. I wanted to let you know… I'm going to Windhelm with Ralof."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I don't think I'll rest again until my blade is slick with Imperial blood. Lots of it. They killed Vilkas, Luthien. I can't just… I can't. I didn't come to say goodbye. I came to ask you to come with me. I held you back once from avenging your father's death, and maybe I was wrong to do that, but now those bastards have taken your father and my brother…"

"You're joining the Stormcloaks?"

"I'm leaving with Ralof at dawn. Come with us."

"Vilkas wouldn't…" She didn't even know what she had started to say, it quickly faded when Farkas interrupted to remind her of the facts.

"Vilkas is dead, Lu. The Imperials took him from us, and we need to make them pay. It's what he would have wanted."

"No, it isn't what he wanted, and you're lying to yourself if you really believe that, Farkas." She'd known her husband, probably as well as his brother knew him, but he'd shared parts of himself with her that he'd never shared with anyone before. Not even his twin. "Vilkas did not believe in revenge, and you know that, but…"

"But what? You know there's nothing you can say that'll change my mind about this. I'm going to Windhelm."

Swallowing against the tight ache in her throat, Luthien nodded her head. "Then I'm coming with you. Vilkas told us to look after each other."

"I remember." A slow, sad grin worked at his lips. "That's why I want you to come. It'll be easier to look after you, if you're with me."

"I was just thinking the same thing about looking after you."

"It's settled then," Ralof interjected. "We leave at dawn."

"Where are you staying tonight?"

"I ran into Farkas up behind Dragon's reach. I've been waiting for the right time to approach you both, camping outside the city walls these last couple months because I lost my unit and have to make my way back to Windhelm to face Ulfric. I didn't want to alert any of the Imperial sympathizers here in Whiterun of my presence, but I wanted to thank you for saving my life and ask you both to come with me to Windhelm."

"There are plenty of Imperial sympathizers hanging around."

"Battle-Borns," Farkas grumbled.

"Battle-Borns," Luthien agreed. "You're welcome to stay here tonight. I'd like to hear more about Ulfric's victories, though I hear they are few and far between."

"It would seem that way, but the Nord armies grow stronger every day. More and more people grow tired of Imperials meddling in affairs that are none of their concern and they come to Ulfric looking for answers. He tells them the answers lie with the strength of their blades, and that only when the Nords unite and lift those blades against the Imperials, will they know true freedom."

For the first time in a very long, she thought of Skjor as she led Ralof and Farkas down the stairs. In the weeks before he'd been slain, Skjor had spoken to her about Ulfric Stormcloak and his _cause,_saying that while it was noble, Ulfric Stormcloak himself might not have had the noblest of intentions. He'd warned her not to dive into war without all the facts, lest she choose a side too quickly and wind up regretting that decision… No one had actually thought the war would go on as long as it had, months passing into years, and neither army with any great victories to show for it. Maybe it was time to bring some victory to Skyrim, but she had a feeling that Skjor would still tell her she was making the wrong choice.

Skjor was dead, just as Vilkas was dead. She'd avenged Skjor's death, righteously so, and yet she'd regretted the choices she'd made then. Vengeance had driven her into a frenzy so close to madness, she'd never thought she would know peace again, but then she'd met with the Greybeards, began studying the way of the voice and then… Vilkas.

He had filled her heart with joy again and given her hope… but that joy was gone. She hadn't loved Skjor even half as well as she loved her husband. In certain terms, he'd been her shield-brother, brother in blood… but in the end she'd barely known him. She owed everything she was to Vilkas and even though everything in her heart told her he would not want them to avenge him that way, her heart had become a wasteland of despair without him and it had only been weeks. How would she feel in another month's time? A year? Ten years?

Blood would not bring him back; she knew that, but perhaps with its shedding, she would feel something again.

She filled mead cups for everyone, inviting Lydia to sit with them as well, and listened as Ralof spoke of Ulfric's glories. She was right. They were far too few, but he believed the war was on the cusp of changing hands.

He didn't make life as a Stormcloak sound glamorous. At least he was honest. The Stormcloaks spent long nights camped out in the tundra and foothills, freezing and hungry, their armor and boots filled with holes, but they were a proud army and they knew their liberation was coming.

Farkas didn't even seem to be listening. Luthien was, but she kept her eye on her brother, wondering what was really going through his mind. He'd told her once that running off to join someone else's cause for vengeance might not be the smartest idea. That she should think about what she was doing, because if she didn't, she might one day regret it. It had been one of the smartest things he'd ever said to her.

Had he really thought about what _he_ was doing? Did he have even the first clue what Ulfric's cause was all about, beyond the promise of painting his blade red with the blood of Imperial soldiers? Every one of them wearing the face of the _dead man_ who'd killed his brother?

After he'd fallen asleep in Vilkas's chair before the fire, and Ralof had gone upstairs to sleep in Lydia's bed, Luthien gathered an extra blanket from the chest in the alchemy lab. Unfolding it as she walked, she gave pause when she reached him, watching the firelight play across his features.

How many times had she come home in the dead of night from some important task that couldn't wait and found Vilkas asleep in that same position, half-empty cup in his hand, parched lips just slightly open as he drew in a soft, snoring breath before shifting against the chair's uncomfortable back. He would stir then, as if the swell of her love alone as she watched him sleep had woken him. Face lighting up, lips curling into a relieved grin, he would say, "I had a feeling you would come home tonight, love. I waited up for you."

She found her hand reaching out almost against her will, trembling fingers sweeping the hair from Farkas's face. Beneath the beard, he had the same strong chin, the same nose, the same eyes… same brow. His mouth was different, not as full and the adorable scar just below Vilkas's lip where he'd been nicked by a sword when he was fifteen years old… It wasn't there, and she knew she would never kiss that scar again, or feel his mouth against hers as he came down above her in the dark.

Drawing back her hand, she gasped when he reached out for it, bringing it back to his face and nestling his cheek into her palm. His face was damp, she hadn't noticed until she felt his tears against her skin. "I miss him so much, Luthien."

"So do I," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat when she spoke.

"When we used to go off without him, I didn't miss him because I knew he was always waiting for us here at home, but now…"

"Shh—"

"I kept thinking if I stayed away long enough, eventually I'd come through your door and find him sitting here, in this chair, but he'll never sit here again."

"I know," she choked on those two words.

"It's my fault, Lu. If I hadn't…"

"It's not your fault," she said. Though she had felt her own mind lingering near that madness herself. If she hadn't used her magic on him… but that was her fault, not his. "If anyone's to blame, it's me."

"No," he shook his head, as if he'd gained some kind of deeper understanding. "No, we did not kill my brother, Luthien. The Imperials did, and they will pay."

"Farkas," she started, trying to choose her words as carefully as possible. "Are you sure running off to join the Stormcloaks is really the right thing to do? You once told me…"

"Forget when I once told you. I didn't get it then. I get it now. I was wrong to try to keep you from avenging your father."

"Even though you know Vilkas wouldn't want us to do this?"

"If it had been the other way around, and it had been me that day, I know he would do the same. Just like I know he would if it had been you."

He did have a point. Vilkas had been beside himself with grief when the Silver Hand invaded Jorrvaskr and killed Kodlak. That grief had driven him into a violent frenzy, and together they'd wiped out the Silver Hand even though Vilkas knew in his heart Kodlak would have never wanted that. He'd lamented over his actions for months.

"You're right," she said, withdrawing her hand and lifting the blanket up over him. "Sleep, brother. Tomorrow, we head to war and hope that Ulfric Stormcloak will have us."

"He will," Farkas muttered, drawing the blanket up around his neck. "A man like Ulfric Stormcloak won't turn away warriors willing to die for him. His ego won't let him."


	3. Chapter 3

They left White Run before the sun came up, hoping to escape the scrutiny of the guards. They didn't even seem to notice Ralof between them, only stopping them to ask if she and Farkas were headed out to take care of the dragon that had been sighted above Eldersblood Peak.

"There's always another dragon in need of killing," was all she said as they pushed open the gates to let them pass through.

"I wish I was out hunting dragons. My cousin is a dragon hunter like you, but I get stuck here with guard duty."

"What was all that about dragon hunting?" Ralof asked, once they were away from the town. "Is that what you do now? Why you never came to Windhelm after we parted ways?"

"She's the Dragonborn," Farkas said, a hint of pride in his voice that made her grin a little.

"A Dragonborn?" Ralof furrowed his brow. "I'd heard rumors that another Dragonborn had come, and it made sense, considering the return of the dragons, but I never… Can you shout?"

"She shouts all the time."

She liked being in a conversation she didn't really have to participate in. It gave her time with her thoughts. While Ralof probed for answers, Farkas handed them over and she scanned the horizon and thought about where they were headed.

She'd started to make that journey once before, after the Imperials had killed her father, saying he'd been hiding Ulfric Stormcloak after he killed the High King with his voice.

She'd been in Windhelm plenty of times since she'd joined the Companions, though Ulfric never seemed to be there when she'd gone in the past. He was always away from the city, and though she hadn't really even been tempted to join his army after she'd become a Companion herself, she had always supposed it was for the best. She'd heard he was quite a speech giver, and the last thing she needed during that confusing time in her life was for a man as physically attractive as Ulfric Stormcloak to sway her away from her path with his honeyed words of glory, honor and duty as a true Nord.

She'd learned everything she needed to know about duty, honor and glory from the Companions. She highly doubted there was much Ulfric could teach her that she didn't already know. She also wasn't sure any lessons he did have to teach her would be worth learning. She'd read a lot about Ulfric in the last three years, having followed Skjor's advice and learning what she could about the man behind the cause, and while she definitely agreed with his cause, she wasn't so sure Ulfric was the kind of man anyone should model themselves after. Some said he was a stout racist, segregating the Dunmer in the filthy Grey Quarter of Windhelm and forbidding the Argonians from even setting foot within the city walls, and in time she'd come to find it odd that a man who prided himself a great liberator of the oppressed only meant to liberate the Nords.

That alone had been enough to quell any urges she had to join his army, but she highly doubted Farkas would be able to process what she was saying if she even tried to explain any of that to him. His mind was clouded with vengeance, and with good reason. She only hoped he didn't look to Ulfric for any kind of guidance, but then reminded herself they probably wouldn't even see much of the man anyway. If they were accepted into his army, and as Farkas pointed out they likely would be since Ulfric couldn't really afford to turn willing bodies away, she would probably never even see the man who claimed it was his right to be High King after assignment.

"We've fought lots of dragons together, haven't we, Luthien?" Farkas drew her away from her thoughts.

"We have."

"I still remember the very first one. Lu and I traveled up into the mountains above Riften together and at first I thought it wasn't gonna show it's ugly face, but then its shadow spread over the mountainside like a…"

At least he was animated about something, she told herself, letting the sound of his voice calm her mind. She'd never thought she'd hear him laugh again, or see him smile, but for a time as they walked, Farkas seemed himself again and she was glad. Farkas had never been a complicated man; he was easy to understand, quick with a laugh and since the day they'd first met, he'd had her back like no one else. She knew in her heart that going to war was a fool's idea, but at least the fool who'd had it would also have her back.

They'd traveled for hours, the sun passing across the sky on its journey back into the horizon, and when it began to grow cold, the dark coming on, they decided to set up camp. She built a fire, and Farkas set out into the woods behind them to hunt for game, leaving her alone with Ralof for the first time.

Funny, she thought, glancing over her shoulder at the man. He'd been her first adrenaline-fueled, girlish crush. She could almost remember how close their bodies had been in the caverns beneath Helgen, the smell of leather, perspiration and fear making them cling to one another as they crept through those dark tunnels in search of a way home. Ralof hadn't been interested in her then. He'd parted ways with her in Riverwood, promising to see her at Ulfric's side in battle before he leaned in and embraced her much the way he'd hugged his sister, Gerdur.

She hadn't thought of him much at all after she'd met Farkas and the Companions. The portrait of glory and honor he'd painted began to slowly fade as she forged her own path. Strange that path should branch off and merge with his again, she thought. Strange that everything she'd experienced had come full circle, and that even though she couldn't even begin to imagine a life in which she'd never known Vilkas, all of the suffering she'd known in the last weeks could have been avoided if she'd only gone to Windhelm the first time.

Somewhere, he would still be alive, arguing with his brother over something so absurd and grinning at how vehemently Farkas defended his point-of-view.

"Ulfric will welcome you with open arms," Ralof broke the silence, leaning forward to throw more kindling on her growing fire. "A Dragonborn with a lust for Imperial blood… You'll scale the ranks quickly, I'd imagine and bring glory to us all."

"I'm only doing this for Farkas, not for glory," she said. "If he feels running his sword through a thousand Imperials will soothe the pain of his loss, then so be it. I will fight at his side because he is my brother, but I know my husband would not have wanted this and I lost my lust for Imperial blood long ago."

"Imperials killed your husband, your father, your mother… How could you not lust for their blood to quench your thirsty blade, Luthien?"

"The everyday problems I've faced in the last three years have gone far beyond this Civil War of Ulfric's. While the Imperials and Stormcloaks tear each other apart, Alduin and his dragons descend from on high to burn us all to ash, and they don't care what kind of armor we wear while they do it. Which faction we belong to, or whose side we take in Ulfric's war, those things don't matter to them. The only thing they long for is our death."

"There are some who believe it was Ulfric who brought the dragons back," Ralof muttered into his beard.

"I have heard those rumors myself. There is a small underground faction of the Blades who still exist to this day, and they don't know what to believe. It was either Ulfric or the Thalmor, but I've found no evidence to support either theory. All I do know is that the Thalmor love watching Skyrim tear itself apart, and the dragons too. When all is said and done, and we've finished each other off, there will be less work for them to do and they will triumph."

"That is a bleak outlook," he said, dropping down to crouch beside her. "Be careful to keep those sorts of thoughts to yourself when you meet Ulfric if you really wish to join his ranks."

"Don't worry, Ralof. I won't say anything to make you look bad in front of your king without a throne."

He only nodded, avoiding her gaze even after Farkas came back to camp with an elk the two of them skinned and gutted before roasting over the fire.

Ralof didn't say much else to her for the rest of the night, but she could feel him looking at her from time to time. She wondered if it was because she'd set his thoughts astir in his mind, or if he just couldn't believe she used to be the same scared little girl who'd once barely helped him escape from Helgen.

Either way, she didn't care what he thought of her, what anyone thought of her, not anymore. She had nothing left to lose. When she stood before Ulfric Stormcloak, she'd say whatever she liked, and if he took issue with her words, so be it.

But that was easier thought than acted upon. Mid-afternoon on their third day of travel, they arrived at the gates of Windhelm, and though the guards were visibly wary of both her and Farkas, they softened their scrutiny as soon as Ralof came forward. He led them into The Palace of the Kings, through the front doors and straight to the jarl's throne, where Ulfric was leisurely relaxing while his second in command paced the floor in front of him.

"And what of Balgruuf?"

"He's a true Nord, he'll come around."

"Don't be so sure of that. We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire is putting a great deal of pressure of Whiterun."

"And what would you have me do?" Ulfric asked, a calm about him that reminded Luthien of the day she'd first laid eyes on him. Even as the Imperials had led him to judgment and death, Ulfric had been calm, proud, a wall of strength. She'd admired him that day.

"If he's not with us, he's against us."

Farkas leaned into her, muttering, "He's a lot bigger than I thought he'd be."

"Shh," she nudged him with her elbow.

"He knows that. They all know that, Galmar," Ulfric said, rising and heading toward the room on their left.

"How long are you going to wait?"Galmar followed, neither of them even looking at Ralof and his two recruits.

"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message?"

"If by message, you mean shoving a sword through his gullet…" Galmar growled.

Ralof headed toward the war room, gesturing with a silent nod for Luthien and Farkas to follow him. They'd just reach the doorway when she heard Ulfric answer. "Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement. Don't you think?"

"So we're ready to start this war in earnest, then?"

She listened carefully to their conversation, never realizing how close the war had been to Whiterun all along, how lucky they'd been to escape the fighting over the last three years. Ulfric didn't seem to think violence would be necessary, but his general didn't agree. They would have to show Balgruuf they were serious, and what better way to do that than to smash Whiterun unexpectedly.

"Whatever you decide, Ulfric, the people are behind you," Galmar said.

Ulfric released a heavy breath, as if unloading all his burdens in that one sigh and leaned down over the table, the map beneath him dotted with pinned flags that wavered in his exhaled breath. "Many, I fear, still need convincing."

"Then let them die with their false kings."

Ulfric pushed up from the table and started toward the window behind him. He paused for a moment lingering there with his thoughts. "We've been soldiers a long time, Galmar. We know the price of freedom," he said. "But the people are still weighing things in their hearts."

"What's left of Skyrim to wager?"

"They have families to think of…"

"How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner? We are their families."

"Well put, friend." He turned his head, eyes staring through the glass as the snow outside drifted past the window. "Tell me, Galmar," he shrugged out of his reverie and turned back toward them, Ralof drawing them out of the way to let him pass back through the doors and head to his throne. "Why do you fight for me?"

"I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion. You know that, Ulfric."

"Yes, but why do you fight? If not for me, what then?"

"I'll die before I let elves dictate the fates of men. Are we not one in this?"

She followed Ralof back toward Ulfric's throne, still listening intently to the conversation. "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, fighting on foreign soil. I fight for their wives and their children, who's names I heard whispered in their dying breath. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people, impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves. I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight, Galmar… because I must."

All she'd heard about the power of Ulfric's voice was true, but she hadn't expected him to be so thoughtful, so deep. She glanced toward Farkas, saw the light of inspiration in his eyes, but knew he had no real idea what Ulfric was saying at all. Even more, she was worried that she thought he did, and that he'd take that touching speech to heart, rushing headlong into war for Ulfric and Vilkas, without a second thought.

"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric. And that's why you will be High King. But the day words are enough will be the day soldiers like us are no longer needed."

At least his general seemed to have his head on straight, Luthien thought, glancing over at the bear of a man and wondering what his story was.

"I would gladly retire from the world, were such a day to dawn."

"Aye, but in the meantime, we have a war to plan."

"Calm your emotions, Galmar. Save that rage for the battlefield." As he turned his attention away from Glamar to focus on Ralof, his iron stare centered on her for a moment as if he actually recognized her. "Ralof, brother, you return. I'd heard troubling news that your unit had been slaughtered, you'd been captured and I feared the worst."

"I was captured," he admitted. "But there was a skirmish with three strangers and I managed to escape. Two of those strangers stand before, the third died at the hands of the Imperials."

"So you've come to take up your swords for me against Imperial oppression?" Ulfric asked. "Grief has driven so many of my soldiers to the warfront, Imperials taking the lives of those they love and scattering them to the wind without a care. My heart burns with the fire of your loss."

"Imperials killed my brother," Farkas said, stepping up to Ulfric. "I want to bathe my sword in their blood until his death is avenged."

"Your blade thirsts for their blood, but after he is avenged? What then? I cannot take on soldiers fueled by nothing more than vengeance."

"He will never be avenged," Luthien spoke up. "Even when every last Imperial is dead, it will not take away the pain of that loss. We've come to fight for your cause, for the freedom to walk in our own lands without being harassed and slaughtered like goats simply because we were passing by on our way home."

"And you are?"

"She is the Dragonborn, Ulfric." Ralof's face lit up with pride, as if he'd made some great find in the wild and he was expecting Ulfric to reward him handsomely.

"Dragonborn?" His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing over her even more carefully than they had just moments earlier. "Have we met before? You are familiar to me?"

"We met in Helgen, three years past. Both of us were headed to the chopping block."

"Aye," he remembered. "You were the one who helped Ralof escape Helgen. He told me your story, and I have often thought upon it with great regret. Your father gave his life in my name."

"And now her husband too," Ralof added.

She wanted to correct them, tell them Vilkas had not given his life for Ulfric, or his cause, and neither had her father. They had both just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Ulfric was already speaking again and she quickly let go of the thoughts that overran her mind. Let Ulfric think what he wanted. They were there now before him, ready to take up his cause, if for no other reason than to quell the sorrow in their hearts. That was all that mattered in the end. They probably wouldn't even see Ulfric again after that one meeting, and that would be fine with her.

"Ralof, take them to see Galmar in the war room, and let him decide, then return to me for reassignment. It _is_ good to see you again, brother. Good to know that you live to fight for me another day."


	4. Chapter 4

Galmar Stone-Fist didn't seem to think much of them when they came to meet him formally. He looked Farkas up and down, definitely seeing potential there, but when his gaze fell upon Luthien, she could see that he had doubts, even if she had escaped from the dragon attack at Helgen three years earlier. By no means was she a big woman. She was a true Nord, tall and strong-boned, but she hid her strengths well beneath her Skyforge Wolf Armor.

"I'll tell you what." Galmar drew a hand into his beard, stroking the hairs thoughtfully as he looked between them again. "There is a problem up at Serpentstone Isle in need of some attention, but I haven't the men or the time to trouble myself with its care. You take care of this little… problem for me, and show me you're actually worth something, and I'll gladly give you a place in Ulfric's army."

"What kind of problem are we talking about?"

"Just an ice wraith," he shrugged. "If you can handle that, then we'll talk about your future with the Stormcloaks."

"All right, we'll do it." Ice wraith? Really? She'd killed ice wraiths in her sleep.

"Not we," Galmar shook his head. "You. Just you."

Farkas started to protest, but she held her arm up to quiet him. "Farkas is my shield-brother, and we've fought countless battles side-by-side. If you don't want him, then I don't stay either."

"It's not your shield-brother I have doubts about. He's welcome to stay here and train with the soldiers in the yard until you return… if you return, that is."

"Forget it, Luthien," Farkas interjected. "You're not going up there without me."

She turned on heel to face him, not caring if the Stone-Fist overheard what she had to say. "You wanted this, Farkas. You wanted to be a Stormcloak, and that's why we're here. Stay here, get outfitted and train in the yard. When I come back, we'll show them we both work well alone, and we can get the job done separately, but that we're even better as a team."

"Lu…"

Vilkas had told them to look after each other, and she knew that was what he was about to remind her of, as if she would ever forget, could ever forget. It had been his dying wish…

"Farkas."

He nodded, easily falling under her leadership. He knew what she was capable of, that she had learned from the best, but it didn't help much that half of the best were now dead. Either of them could be next. "Be careful up there."

"I'll be back before you even know I'm gone. Now make sure you show these Stormcloaks how a proper warrior gets things done."

He nodded, and she saw a gleam of pride in his eye. "Will do," he promised.

Galmar had sent her with a couple potions, which she tossed into her bag without a thought as she set off. She passed through the main hall, Ulfric still sitting on his lonely throne, staring forward as if he were looking straight into the void. He didn't stir when she walked through, but seemed to finally notice her just as she reached the edge of the table.

"Girl, come here."

She paused, not sure she was up for another prolific speech designed to inspire and reawaken her honor. Turning on heel, she walked back toward his throne and waited quietly for him to speak.

"What is your name?"

"Luthien."

"Are you really the Dragonborn, Luthien?"

"The Greybeards believe it to be true, but then some say they once trained you as well, but you turned from the Way of the Voice."

"They did train me, that is true," he nodded. "But the world could not wait for me to learn all they had to teach, and I left High Hrothgar to take up my sword for a far greater cause."

"The Great War," she nodded. "You were an Imperial soldier once."

"Now I bloody my sword day and night, taking down that which I once believed to be righteous and true. It has been nothing but war for me since I left that peaceful place," he lamented.

She thought it was funny, that he spoke of all the blood he'd coated his blade with, when she'd never even heard of him joining one of his own battles.

"I assume Galmar has set a test for you. If you manage to survive, I would like you to show me the power of your Thu'um."

"Someday, perhaps."

"And if I commanded it as your king?"

He was pushing a strange boundary with her, gauging her loyalty and setting his own test for her that would far surpass anything Galmar sent her to do. Ulfric wasn't king yet, and he knew it, but he expected those who followed him to recognize his status even if it wasn't official.

"Then I would have no choice but to do your will, my king."

"Good answer, soldier. You are free to go."

He watched her as she made her way to the front doors of the Palace of the King, his eyes as cold and blue as polished steel, but she didn't look back at him. She didn't know why she felt the need to challenge him with silent docility. Maybe because she wasn't there for herself. Had she come to him three years ago, the way she'd planned, she would have easily fallen at his feet and probably kissed his boots, swooning the way so many women seemed to do at the mere mention of his name. She'd been a different person then. Vilkas had called her green, a scared little girl afraid of the shadows of her own past.

She was a woman now, and king or no king, she wasn't going to prance around Ulfric Stormcloak begging for his approval. She'd learned she didn't need anyone's approval. She was the Harbinger, the Dragonborn, Archmage of the College at Winterhold. She's slain enough of her own demons in the last three years, she knew she didn't need to prove anything to anyone anymore.

She would pass Galmar's test and return to join Ulfric's army. She would fight in his war, and maybe even die under his banner on the field, but she wouldn't treat him as if he was special simply because he could summon the power of the Voice… even if he was going to be high king when all was said and done.

She stepped outside and started away from the palace, feeling the burn of the cold wind against her cheeks. She stopped by the smith to sharpen her blade and gathered a few supplies from the White Phial before planning to make her way north, through the Sea of Ghosts to the Serpentstone Isle. She hadn't been that far north in years, not since she'd freed Farkas and Vilkas of their wolf spirits, but even stranger to her was the fact that for the first time in over three years, she was traveling alone.

Vilkas had always taught her that no matter the size of the job, a Companion always traveled with a shield-sibling. One never knew when she might require a shield to guard her back, a bow to catch her foe off-guard from a distance and buy her a little time if she needed it, a sword to stand beside her even when the odds seemed too great to face. It was the first time since she'd gone to slay the Glenmoril witches coven that she hadn't been accompanied by one of the twins, but she supposed that was something she would have to get used to now that Vilkas was gone. It would always just be Farkas… or she would go it alone.

How did a person just get used to that kind of loss? Did the pain ever go away?

On the bright side, running into a group of bandits by herself meant she didn't have to share the spoils with anyone, and it certainly got her mind off things for a little while. By the time she made it to Winterhold the next morning, and headed up to the college to make sure everything was running smoothly, she was exhausted and grateful for the warmth and solitude of her quarters.

She hadn't really slept much since Vilkas had died, and when she had, it had been a troubled sleep, restless and filled with nightmares in which she relived the same tragic moment over and over again. It was worse than when she'd been cursed with the beastblood, and she began to wonder if she would ever know rest again. She'd hoped the separation from familiarity with home might help, but even her dreams that afternoon were filled with regret.

When she woke, she occupied her mind brewing potions and then organizing them on her shelves, and that was where Tolfdir found her.

Tolfdir had been her mentor when she'd first arrived at the college, a kind old wizard with a wandering mind, but he'd taught her a great deal during her trials and she respected him most of all the teachers who'd survived the mad elf, Ancano's devastating quest for power with the Eye of Magnus. It hadn't been easy defeating him, but when all was said and done, and she was left with the Archmage's duties as her reward, the Psijic Order had confided they'd hoped to see the Dragonborn in that position and she had taken the job.

Vilkas hadn't been happy about that either, claiming it was just more responsibility to bog her down and keep her from the things that really mattered. At the time she'd thought he'd been referring to her duties as Harbinger of the Companions and her responsibilities as Dragonborn (which she still didn't truly understand,) but the more she thought on it, she wondered if he'd meant him, the family they had talked of starting when they'd first gotten married.

"I had heard you'd returned to the college, Archmage," the old man said. "I knocked, but you must not have heard me."

"I was occupied with my thoughts."

He nodded understanding, a sadness in his bright eyes that touched her heart. "They brought us word about your husband's death," he said. "Terrible business that. I'm so sorry for you loss."

She said nothing. She'd grown tired of hearing how sorry everyone was in the last months. It was all anyone seemed to say to her anymore, but she remained polite even when she wanted to lash out and ask them how their sorries would make everything right again.

"I won't be staying long. I am heading further north come morning, up to Serpentstone Isle."

"Serpentstone Isle? What do you seek there?"

"Glory to prove myself worthy of a Stormcloak Cuirass," she sighed. "My shield-brother and I have joined with Ulfric's cause and they have set me to a test before they'll take me."

Tolfdir's face softened with sorrow. "A vengeful heart leads to a dark road, Archmage. I know the Imperials were responsible for…"

"I'm not joining the Stormcloaks to avenge Vilkas's death," she assured him. "I'm joining to keep Farkas out of trouble, to keep him close so I can watch over him. It is his vengeful heart that leads us into battle under Ulfric's banner."

"I see." His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of her words. "I hope you'll not mistake an old man's concern for meddling, Archmage, and pardon me if this is out of line, but that seems an awful strange reason to head into an endeavor as serious as war. Are you sure you aren't masking your own desires for revenge with your need to protect your brother."

"I'm positive, Tolfdir." But was she, really? She didn't even know what to think of her decision anymore. The only thing she was certain of was that she couldn't let Farkas go off to do something that crazy on his own. "And besides, maybe if Ulfric actually has some decent warriors on his side, we can finally put an end to this ridiculous war, once and for all and focus on far more important matters, like the return of the dragons."

"You know what's best for you," Tolfdir said. "I hope you'll be safe though, and try to report back to us from time to time. It seems the damndest things tend to crop up when you're away."

"What do you mean?"

"We had a visit from that member of the Psijic Order just last week. He wanted to let us know that we can expect a few strange aftershocks, after that plot of Ancano's. None have been reported as of yet, but we should be on the lookout for them. Funny thing," Tolfdir shook his head. "Isn't that the type of thing they should have told us when it happened?"

"I suppose it is," she sighed, her mind suddenly feeling so heavy with all that responsibility. "Do keep an ear out for any such disturbances, and notify me at once if you hear of one. Send a courier if you have to."

"Where should I send it?"

"Windhelm, I suppose. Even if I am in the field, the Jarl's men will know where to find me."

"Do promise you'll be careful out there," he pleaded. "Remember everything we taught you, and put your magic to good use."

Her face softened, a little bit of the heaviness lifting away for the moment. "Of course I will."

Even if magic hadn't been able to save Vilkas, she would make sure she never made that same mistake again. She glanced up at the shelf, where she'd just arranged the potions she'd crafted, then reached up and grabbed every magic and health potion she had in stock. She traded a few of her ingredients with Tolfdir for the potions he had in stock as well, loading them all into her bag.

She'd never run low on magical energy again; not if she could help it.

A/N: Life and family responsibilities have really gotten in the way of how regularly I can update chapters here on . For those who don't wish to wait, Riding the Storm is complete, as is the sequel-The Dragon Queen. Both are available in their entirety on my website, the link to which can be found on my author page to anyone interested in following me there.


	5. Chapter 5

She'd never been to Serptenstone Isle, though she knew where it was… at least she'd thought she did. She got lost in the Sea of Ghosts several times, nearly freezing to death after falling into the water and then almost sealing her frozen fate a second time when she'd been forced to swim around the island twice looking for a clear passageway.

She'd healed herself, grateful for the warmth that quickly spread through her skin, but her wet clothes started to freeze against the bitter wind and she really didn't want to chance drying them with her own fire. There'd been a girl at the college when she was there who'd set herself on fire once, and it hadn't been pretty. She'd have to ask Tolfdir if there was some warming spell he could teach her. They did live in the coldest region of Tamriel. A warming spell should have been taught to every new student on their very first day.

By the time she reached the top of that short little mountain, she took back everything she'd thought about Galmar Stone-Fist being an idiot and realized he'd known exactly what he was doing. He'd sent her to her death and the ice wraith she saw hovering near the gate to the Serpent Stone was really the least of her problems.

Wuuthrad had frozen to her back, and no amount of pulling was going to free it. She kept an enchanted elven dagger on her hip, but a close range weapon wasn't going to prove much use against an enemy she needed to keep at arm's length.

"I guess I'm playing with fire after all," she said aloud, spreading her feet shoulder-width apart and closing her eyes to summon her magic.

She could hear the ice wraith coming for her, its ethereal tale whipping against the brutal wind, sharp teeth gnashing in the dark. Opening her eyes again, she held up her left hand and unleashed a series of fireballs that quickly drained her power, but sent the wraith back toward the standing stone it had been circling around before she came up the mountainside. That gave her just enough time to swallow down a philter of magicka, the tingling heat of that magic moving through her, warming her body again. She switched tactics when she saw it streaming back toward her like a swirling jet of frigid ice and air and it was angry.

Fire burned from the palm of her hand in a long stream that crackled at the edges of its icy body, the wraith screaming and bucking in the air, teeth clenched against the pain. It opened its jaw again, teeth nipping at her exposed skin. She thought of Farkas, what he'd said the night Vilkas was killed while they were fighting the dragon as she growled in pain. Its icy teeth burned, confusing her senses.

She brought up her other hand, opened her fingers and gauged her magicka reserves. She had just enough left in her to do what she wanted to do. She only hoped it stunned the creature long enough for her to refuel if it didn't actually kill it.

Lowering her left hand, the wall of fire shot up around her and the ice wraith swarmed right through it, flames licking up around it, melting its essence as it writhed and screamed. It struggled to get away, but even as it retreated, lingering flame clung to it, still burning until it dropped to the ground just in front of the Serpent Stone it had once guarded.

Luthien waited, catching her breath and healing herself with the last of her magicka reserves as the wind raged around her like a bad dream. Her damp hair lashed at her face, frozen strands clumped together like a thick whip, but there was nothing she could do about it. Not until she got back to land again. But at least the wraith was dead and she'd passed Galmar's test.

She cut the teeth from its slack jaw with her dagger, both a souvenir she could show the man who'd sent her and a valuable potions ingredient, and tucked them into her pouch. Approaching the Serpent Stone, she heard its ringing call, begging to be activated, but she wasn't sure gaining the ability to poison people from afar was much of a reward for having slain the beast guarding it. She'd always drawn from the power of the Warrior Stone, and if she was headed to war, changing that now didn't seem a good idea.

Still, the Standing Stones never failed to take her breath away, the pale light of Secunda and Masser streaming through the thick clouds above as if reaching out to bathe the stone. She let the power of the place wash over her, even if she wasn't going to activate the stone, there was no reason she shouldn't respect it.

She wondered if Vilkas had ever seen it; maybe he and Farkas had made their way to the Serpent Stone when they'd traveled back from Ysgramor's tomb after they'd set Kodlak's spirit to rest. Her first thought was that she would have to ask him, and then she remembered and felt the peace of that place grow heavy inside her.

Trekking down the path that led back to the water, she tried not to think about it anymore—the fact that she would never get to share those kinds of discoveries with him again, see his face light up with intrigue as she described it to him with excitement and wonder. By the time she reached the water's edge again, Secunda had battered its way through the clouds, its fat, round body radiating light across the water. She lifted her face and closed her eyes, muttering to the wind in hopes that it would carry her words to Sovngarde, where Vilkas surely waited for her to join him in the Hall of Valor.

"I wish you were here with me."

She didn't know what she'd been expecting as she lingered a moment longer, maybe for the wind to carry his answer back to her, but when nothing came she dove into the cold water again and made for the mainland, a part of her almost hoping the frigid, icy sea would make every part of her numb.


	6. Chapter 6

It was nearly nightfall when she made her way through the gates of Windhelm and marched straight to the Palace of the Kings. She had expected to find Ulfric brooding on his throne, but instead was drawn to the war room to her left by the booming sound of his voice. He was pacing the floors, Galmar standing with his arms crossed as he listened, eyes barely catching hers at first when she appeared in the doorway. His expression quickly changed, eyes widening as she stalked into the war room without a care for the fact that she was interrupting one of Ulfric's moving speeches.

"I won't waste valuable resources on this fool's errand, Galmar. I can't to send my men away from battle to find a crown that may or may not even be there."

She walked right up to Galmar and held up the ice wraith's teeth for him to see before dropping them onto the table, "It is done."

"Good work, girl, though I won't lie. We really didn't think you'd make it back, but it seems I underestimated you."

"I'd like to keep it that way." She raised to her full height, which landed the top of her head just below Galmar's nose. "If you keep underestimating me, you'll never know what I'm capable of. It'll make it easier to keep you guessing."

"This one's got true spirit." Ulfric's shadow lingered over her shoulder. "Why is she not out in the field yet? We could win this war with spirit like that."

"I sent her out to test her mettle at Serpentstone Isle," Galmar explained, slightly put off by the air of challenge in her stance. He was probably three times her size, and yet she had no intention of letting that give him the upper hand. Even if she did realize her attitude and true spirit, as Ulfric had called it, wasn't likely to make her a favorite of the Stone-Fist anytime in the near future.

"She's proven herself, and in good time too. Perhaps you should take _her_ with you on this fool's quest of yours."

"She hasn't even sworn the oath yet," Galmar protested.

"Swear her then. She's obviously ready to take up arms in my name."

Galmar squinted, looking down the length of his broad nose at her before nodding. "Are you ready to take the oath, Unblooded?"

"I am no unblooded," she said. "I am a Nord, a true daughter of Skyrim, and I would appreciate it if you kept that in mind."

At her back, she heard the deep, undulating tones of Ulfric's laughter, which didn't seem to soften the bitter surprise from Galmar's eyes. "I take back what I said a moment ago. This one doesn't just show true spirit, she shows fire, a fire that will inspire everyone around her, and the Stormcloaks could use fire like that. What are you waiting for? Swear her in, Galmar, and take her with you to find the Jagged Crown."

"All right," he agreed. "Are you ready to swear fealty to the true High King?"

"I am."

"Repeat the oath," he ordered, spilling the words out so quickly, he must not have been expecting her to keep up.

When he finished, she looked over at Ulfric, and then back to Galmar, saying, "I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim. As Talos as my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond, even to my lord as to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms. All hail the Stormcloaks…" She couldn't deny the tingling of pride she felt saying those words, even if she had doubted them when she'd first heard them. "…the true sons and daughters of Skryim!"

There was no turning back now. She wondered if Farkas had already taken the oath, where he even was.

"Welcome, sister in arms." Galmar seemed to soften a little after she'd taken the oath, withdrawing to follow Ulfric to the table. "The king would like you to come along with me on this important matter, so listen up."

She had no trouble following their conversation. Galmar believed he'd located the Jagged Crown, and with that in their possession, it could strengthen their claim to the throne. "With the Jagged Crown in our hands, the people will no longer be able to deny you as their king, Ulfric."

"How do you even know the crown is there?" Ulfric lifted a hand to stroke the short-cropped hairs of his golden, red beard, fingers lingering at his chin for a moment.

"I have it on good authority…"

"This better not be a waste of my time, Galmar."

"I promise you, it won't be, but we need to move quickly. You know as well as I do that the Imperials will be after that crown as soon of they get wind of it. We can guard our secrets as best we can, but there are always spies among us."

After Ulfric had left them, Galmar gave her a uniform, but it was threadbare and thin compared to her armor and she couldn't imagine giving up the Skyforge Wolf Armor she'd worn so long for a strip of cloth that would barely protect her during battle. Especially, if Galmar spoke true, they could plan on running into Imperials at Korvanjund.

"Just put on the goddamned armor," Galmar shook his head. "You're a Stormcloak now, though I can see it won't be long before I regret letting Ulfric talk me into swearing you in."

"I'll wear the armor I have on," she insisted. "And since I've proven myself, I'd like to take my shield-brother with us."

"Farkas?" he asked. "That boy's meant for the field. He's set to leave first thing tomorrow morning."

"I told you before I left here that Farkas and I may be strong when we're parted, but we work even better as a team…"

"We don't have time for lover's to cling to each other, girl. This is war."

"He is not my lover," she tightened her jaw. "He is my brother, in blood and bond, and I am sworn to look after him. I took an oath…"

"And you just took another oath," he reminded her. "You swore your allegiance to Ulfric Stormcloak, or have you so quickly forgotten…"

"Galmar." Ulfric's bellow caught them both off guard. She hadn't heard him come back to the door of the war room, and Galmar obviously hadn't either. "Let the woman take her brother."

Galmar swallowed hard against his fury, and drew in a troubled breath. "Of course, my lord," he said, glancing over her to where Ulfric stood. She followed his gaze, found the king standing in the doorway. He met with her eyes, and for a moment she felt as if he were cutting straight through to her soul. "But she's putting the gods damned armor on."

"I agree," Ulfric said. "In fact, as your king, I command it."

"Then I will do as my king commands," she relented.

"Perhaps you should command her to follow my orders as well, Ulfric," Galmar followed after the king. "She needs to know I'm in charge, and she can't just do her own bidding if you're not around to command her."

As she began to unbuckle the straps of her armor, she heard Ulfric say, "Let her prove herself, Galmar. I have a strong feeling this one will only continue to surprise us."

Their voices faded as she changed into the Stormcloak cuirass, glancing down over her body with a sigh. It wasn't the sturdiest armor she'd ever owned, but it was better than the Cuirass she'd stripped off the dead Stormcloak the day she'd escaped Windhelm with Ralof and maybe she'd be able to move more easily.

She stepped into the hall and found it empty, save for Ulfric, who'd returned to brooding in silence on his throne.

"My colors look good on you." He glanced up, an intrigued smile warming his lips. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. "Go easy on Galmar," he instructed. "It is clear you are a woman who follows her heart and her passions, but let him think he's leading every once in a while, and he'll come to depend on you, even confide in you."

"I will do as you ask."

"Good." The silence between them was eerily uncomfortable, but he hadn't dismissed her so she knew she couldn't just turn and walk away. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "I would still like you to demonstrate your Thu'um for me one day, Dragonborn."

"As you command, my king. When you are ready."

"Perhaps when you return with the Jagged Crown, if it's truly even there as Galmar says."

"I will bring you your crown, my king."

He tilted his head thoughtfully, studied her in that strange way he seemed to study everything around him and she wondered what was going through his mind. Sure, he spoke deeply enough, but what lay inside the halls of the mind of Ulfric Stormcloak. She figured she would probably never know, but she was curious, nevertheless. Whatever it was, it all seemed far too heavy for one man, and though she still thought to herself that Ulfric was a bit of a blowhard, just as Skjor had once called him, maybe he_would_ be a good king. He seemed to think everything he did through very carefully, and while many people felt his war was a fool's game, Ulfric didn't think so at all.

They would all find out, in time, she supposed. If they won his war for him. No… she stopped that thought in her mind before it could spread much further. When they won his war for him.

"I will be waiting," he lifted an eyebrow. "Talos be with you."

He dismissed her, and she went outside to meet with Galmar and the others.


	7. Chapter 7

She found them waiting outside the city gates, Ralof, Galmar, Farkas and a handful of other soldiers. Farkas lit up when he saw her, and though she would have known him anywhere, she almost didn't recognize him in that Stormcloak armor. It made him seem bigger than he usually was, every muscle bulging to capacity as if the arms master had run out of material, or she'd been a woman with a lusty heart and a good sense of humor.

"I knew you'd be back," he grinned as she ran up to meet him.

"Ice wraiths," she rolled her eyes. "Taking their teeth is like taking a sweet roll from a child."

Farkas laughed, stepping back to look her over. "So I see you've got new clothes too," he glanced down the length of her exposed leg, then drew up to meet her gaze. "Did you take the oath?"

She nodded. "I did."

"Me too."

"I guess that means we're in this now until the end."

"When you put it that way, it makes it all sound pretty… bleak."

"You two, we're heading out," Galmar called out to them.

They fell in behind Galmar and the others, side by side as they traveled.

"Do you know where we're going? I was supposed to head out tomorrow for the camp in the Rift, but then Galmar came and said I was going with him."

"Did you really think I was going to let them just send you off into battle without me?"

"I knew you'd be back before I left. I could feel it."

"We're going to Korvanjund," she told him, watching the snow beneath her feet crunch under their steps. "To retrieve the Jagged Crown for our king."

"Oh."

It was a three day march to Korvanjund, which lay in the foothills just Northeast of Whiterun. They marched under the cloak of night, and made camp by day to avoid confrontation on the road. Galmar sent Ralof and Farkas out to hunt for food, but kept her close at camp, assigning her with women's duties like cooking and cleanup as if that would somehow break her spirit. There were three other women with their troop, and he didn't seem near as threatened as he did by her, but she let him have his fun and did everything he asked her to, just as her king had commanded her.

Galmar did seem to ease up on her during their third night marching across the tundra. She thought she'd even seen him warm a bit when he noticed Wuuthrad for the first time, stepping up to ask her if she truly carried Ysgramor's blade.

"Reforged by Eorlund Grey-Mane of Whiterun." She held it up with pride so he could have a better look. "In the renewed fires of the Skyforge after we sent our Harbinger to rest."

"Wuuthrad reforged," he whistled. "And how did you come by it?"

"It was a gift, from Ysgramor himself."

"Come now, girl. Ysgramor's been dead more lifetimes than you or I could ever imagine."

"I recovered all of the shards, and when Eorlund reforged the blade, he said Ysgramor himself would have been honored for me to carry it into battle."

"You are the Harbiner… of the Companions?" Galmar asked.

"I am."

"And Farkas there says you're Archmage of the College at Winterhold?"

"I am."

"And Dragonborn as well…" He shook his head, a whistling breath huffing through his teeth again. "Perhaps my underestimation of you ran far deeper than it should have." And then he hardened a little, but she could see a playful glint in his bright eyes when he said, "I should have made your test harder."

Luthien laughed.

"You do realize, Ulfric will expect great things from you." He paused and looked out over the horizon ahead, both of them spying the scout he'd sent out to survey Korvanjund before they arrived. "And so will I."

She said nothing, but stepped aside as the scout approached and listened to what she had to say. Korvanjund was crawling with Imperials, that seemed more comfortable there than the majority of their own men out in the field. There were far more than Galmar had first expected, and they would have to go in fighting.

She realized, as Galmar began to rally the men around him, that while he was certainly no Ulfric Stormcloak when it came to giving speeches, he'd definitely taken a page from Ulfric's book. They were going to march in there and show those red-clothed fools what Stormcloaks were made of. Though some of them may have once served the Empire with the soldiers they faced, they were all Stormcloaks now, and the only brothers they had were the shield-brothers they fought beside.

"We will paint our blades red with their blood, and send them screaming to the depths of Oblivion. Talos doesn't want their souls, and neither do I!"

As they made their way across the solid ground, they crept in and caught the four Imperial soldiers lingering outside off guard, slaughtering them under the moonlight before they even had a chance to raise alarms and warn their companions inside. Luthien hadn't even drawn her blade before the soldiers were taken care of, but Farkas had taken out two of them himself, a strange fire in his eyes when he met her gaze and lifted his bloodied sword to show her.

For Vilkas… it was as if she'd heard him in her mind, saying those words. She only nodded, not smiling or offering her praise or approval. Instead, she cocked her ear left and listened as Galmar handed out another warning. There were liable to be plenty more where those red fiends had come from, so any whose blades hadn't tasted their blood should get ready for a good fight.

They cleared out the entrance quickly, Ralof and Farkas dominating the battle, but Luthien hung close to Galmar at the front of the line, ready to meet the next encounter first. Wuuthrad had never felt so heavy in her hands, not even when she'd wielded it against the wolf spirits that cursed her lover and brother. The fight didn't feel right to her, as if her heart wasn't truly in it, but Galmar assigned her with the task of finding another way in to avoid an ambush, and she skulked up the stairs quietly, Farkas at her back.

"You have no idea how good this feels," he whispered. "Every time I bring down my sword, I feel like… I don't know, like I'm getting all my anger out on the bastards who really deserve it."

"Good," she muttered, not quite sharing his sentiment. Maybe in time, it would come, she thought, but for the moment she just kept telling herself she was on a job for her king, and every time her sword sliced through the bright red armor of an Imperial soldier, she was just working. She wished she could feel like Farkas did about it; she just couldn't. No matter how much Imperial blood they spilled, it would never bring Vilkas back.

She crept in across the top archway, Farkas so close behind her she could practically feel his breath across the back of her neck when he exhaled. When she caught a flash of red from the corner of her eye, she gestured silently with her hand for Farkas to draw back and draw his bow. She waited until she was just at the edge of the stairs, standing just above two Imperials, who were whispering that they knew someone was around, but they just didn't know where. That was when she gave Farkas the signal to fire, and she dropped down the steps with a snarling battle-cry that sent the two soldiers scattering.

Swinging Wuuthrad left, she caught the one who was closest to escape, the sharp blade connecting with his flesh with a wet thunk and crack, as she passed through the meat of his body and hit bone. He let out a startled wail of disbelief as she withdrew and spun right to hit the other man charging toward her with his sword over his head. Farkas hit him with an arrow in the back of the thigh, which sent him staggering forward right into Wuuthrad.

The force of her own blow rocked through her, and she had to quickly readjust her footing to keep from losing her balance.

"Nice shot," Farkas commented, racing down to meet up with her.

"You too."

The din of coming battle echoed out to meet them. Their Stormcloak brothers and sister charged in at the sound of fighting and soon the scent of spilled blood and split bowels filled the air. She'd been in battle before, knew what to expect, but there were so many dead Imperials littering the floor, the fumes of death were nearly overwhelming. She wasn't the only one to notice, one of the other women leaning over an old burial urn to vomit.

Galmar shook his head, growling into his knotted beard. "Get used to the smell, Unblooded. You'll get more of that when I send you down to Falkreath at the end of this mission."

It probably shouldn't have, but that made Luthien smile. At least she knew Galmar hadn't just disliked her. He seemed to have a low opinion of women on the battlefield in general. Maybe she could change that, and charged with this new task, she pushed to the front again, ahead of Ralof and crept down the winding hallways with Wuuthrad at the ready.

As they came upon the body of a draugr, the woman who'd lost her last meal in the burial urn stepped forward cautiously, nudging the unmoving body with the edge of her sword. "What is that?"

"Draugr," Galmar said. "If you've never seen one of them before, beware. Crypts like this are usually crawling with them, and it's only been lucky for us that the Imperials took them out thus far."

"But where there's one, there's always another," Farkas added.

"And another, and another." Luthien looked to her shield-brother and grinned. "We know what to do with Draugr."

"We kick their asses."

"All right," Galmar barked. "Enough standing around. We've got a crown to find for our king. Move."

They only met with two more Imperials before they came into the Hall of Stories, the stone carvings in the walls telling tales of battles won long before any of them were even so much as a thought in the minds of the gods.

"That's… that's just… wow." Farkas muttered from behind her.

"Perhaps these walls can tell us how to open that door up ahead," Galmar said. "Otherwise we'll have to go back to Ulfric and tell him we failed. That's not something I intend to do."

Luthien spied the ebony claw before anyone else, clutched in the hand of a dead Imperial soldier lying just in front of the door. His sleeve had been covering half of it, but she'd found it and bent to pick it up. She studied the patterns on the back, knowing exactly how the door worked.

"Farkas," she called over her shoulder. "A little help."

"What do you need?"

"Can you reach that top ring and turn it to the wolf?"

"Will do."

While he spun the heavy stone ring, she worked the middle and inner-rings until the pattern matched the claw, and then she plugged the claw into the keyhole and turned left. The rings came to life with a great groan, stone on stone, and thousands of years of dust and decay showered down over them, filling the outer chamber for a moment. By the time the door had lowered completely, the dust had cleared and Galmar turned to her.

"Good work, girl. You're the only one here who seems to show any goddamned initiative." He rolled his heavy gaze across the others, who all looked away in shame. "When we find the crown, I'll make sure you're the one to take it back to Ulfric, so he knows how much of the glory in this was yours."

"We need to find the crown first," she reminded him.

"What are you rabble waiting for? Go."

They all rattled by her, Farkas looking back to make sure she was coming, but they didn't get very far before they came into a blocked chamber, the way to the ceremonial chamber closed off by a heavy iron gate.

"You," Galmar gestured to her. "Find a way to get that gate up. The rest of you, keep your eyes open for draugr."

Luthien followed an open passageway to the landing above and found the release lever just above where Galmar was standing. She pulled it out and turned, releasing the gate, but awakening the draugr in the crypts that surrounded her shield-brothers on the floor. She raced didn't even bother running back down the way she came, but dropped to the floor with her axe at the ready, taking out a draugr that had backed Ralof into the corner. Farkas managed to wipe out two of the others, and Galmar got the fourth one.

With the way clear, they headed into the burial chamber, and Luthien's gaze immediately passed across an old draugr seated in the throne in the center of the room.

"The crown's got to be around here somewhere, start looking."

Luthien started toward the draugr, but an old familiar calling sounded in her soul. It began as a distant chant, that rose louder and louder as she passed by the throne and into an alcove near the back of the chamber. The glowing wall drew her forward, almost against her will, and as she stepped up the swirling mass of blue light as it whirled and danced around her, spiraling upward from the floor as it crawled its way through her to merge with her essence.

Farkas was the only one who saw, and he rushed toward her, hand reaching out to grip her shoulder and hold her steady. "You all right?"

"Not as bad as they used to be," she said. "But they still leave me dizzy for a minute."

"Ralof found the crown," he told her. "Galmar wants the Dragonborn to be the one to take it back to the king."

As soon as she had her wits back, she followed Farkas back into the main chamber and stepped up to see what they were all looking at. It was the draugr in the throne, she realized. Perched atop his head was a jagged crown crafted from the teeth and bones of dragons older than the stone that built the ancient tomb they were standing in.

Luthien nudged past Ralof, hand reaching out to pluck it from the draugr's head, but as soon as she moved it, the dead man's eyes shot open and the leathery, rotted flesh of his mouth yawned to reveal yellowed teeth older than the hair of Ysgramor's beard. Everyone behind her scattered, and the sound of weapons drawing from scabbards rang in the air, followed by the crumbling crypts of long-dead draugr awakening to defend their king.

The draugr king began to rise from his seat, mouth stretching wider until she realized too late it was about to shout and send them all scattering backward. She held tight to her weapon, but its force was almost too powerful for her to stand against. She flew, the power of its Thu'um not weakened by the millenniums of sleep. Connecting with the wall hadn't been half as bad as Galmar's heavy hip smashing into her gut.

That was going to leave a bruise.

Shaking the cobwebs from her head, she dug deep down inside her and drew her own voice. Shoving Galmar out of the way as she raged forward, she unleashed the power of her Thu'um, staggering the king and his draugr backward. She charged forward, Wuuthrad whistling through the air and piercing the old leather armor of the draugr king before he could get up.

Behind her, she heard the others coming to life, flying into battle with fierce cries at her back. Galmar came in beside her, Farkas on the other side, and the three of them dropped their blades into the draugr king again. It gurgled, muttering curses that were impossible to understand. Farkas lifted his sword again, hacking down through the rotted sinew of its neck, straight through brittle bone, the head leaping up with the force, dropping down and rolling across the floor.

The crypt was silent, save for the rasp of spent breath as everyone hunched over trying to catch up with the speed of their hearts. Everyone but Galmar. He walked over to pick up the head, wrenching the crown from its skull and carrying it over to her.

"Take Ulfric his crown, Dragonborn." His dark blue eyes gleamed with approval. "And when you hand it to him, tell him he owes me a drink."


	8. Chapter 8

Galmar had dispatched her, sending Farkas with her, and the two of them set out for Windhelm. They kept to the woods and side roads, in order to avoid Imperial officers on the main road. Once word got back to the Empire that Ulfric held the Jagged Crown, Galmar expected General Tullius to tighten his grip on his men.

They talked as they made the journey to Windhelm, and it almost felt like old times, but both of them knew they weren't going home because Vilkas wasn't waiting for them there, and it would never be like old times again.

Vilkas had helped her get used to the idea of home again, after she'd thought she might never know the feeling of that comfort again. He and the Companions had taken her in, given her strength and purpose, but it felt all too often to her now that both her strength and her purpose had died with him. She would never be the same again.

At night, while they sat around their fire passing a bottle of mead back and forth, she watched Farkas's face in the firelight and something inside her wanted to reach out to him, but she knew it was wrong. He was not Vilkas, would never be Vilkas, but for a fleeting moment she wondered if being with him might take the edge off of her sorrow, or if it would just bring her more. There had once been a time when she knew Farkas had loved her that way and sometimes he liked to tease her that she'd chosen the wrong brother, but he would never betray his brother, even dead, and quelling the loneliness inside her with her dead husband's twin was not a place she wanted to go either.

She skulked off to bed with her shame, and he promised to keep first watch, but she didn't sleep.

It was well after midnight when they made their way up the front steps to the Palace of the Kings. She told Farkas to rent them a room at Candlehearth Hall, promising to meet him there after she'd finished with bed with her shame, and he promised to keep first watch, but she didn't sleep.

Ulfric was not on his throne when stalked through the front doors, which actually surprised her. She imagined he ate, drank, and slept on his throne, as though afraid someone might step up and take it from him. When she asked one of the guards where she might find the king, he directed her upstairs to the Jarl's quarters.

It felt strange, walking up the sharp, winding stairs. She peeked around several corners and found all the rooms empty. When she came to another staircase that led to a set of broad double-doors, she drew a deep breath and made her way upward, hoping he was still awake.

Ulfric didn't seem to be the kind of man who suffered being woken without consequences, but he didn't answer when she knocked, and after several minute of debating with herself about whether or not she should just come back in the morning, she finally heard him clear his throat from within, and call out, "Come."He was lying in bed when she entered the warm room, shirtless, though he kept his axe propped near the bedside table, just within reach if he needed it."I'm sorry to bother you, but Galmar sent me." She held up the crown, watching the fire's light glint off the shining teeth before looking to Ulfric, whose eyes seemed to light up at the sight. "He said you owe him a drink."

"That son-of-a-bitch," he laughed heartily. "Bring it to me. I want to see it."

She did as he asked, and he sat up, taking the crown from her hands and holding it up in the light for a better look.

Luthien tried not to follow the falling coverlet down the length of his chest where it rested in the pool of his lap, but it wasn't possible. Ulfric was a big man, big boned, broad of chest, and she was immediately drawn to the faded pink scars that marked the skin of his chest and neck, a few stray lashes on his left cheek.

Ulfric caught her stare, his voice cutting through the silence and drawing her gaze away. It startled her and made her face flush warm, as though she'd been caught doing something wrong and inappropriate. "People say the way I treat the Dunmer here in Windhelm is atrocious, but at least I let them live in peace within my walls, which is more than I can say for the hospitality of elvenkind." He reached for the bottle of wine on the bedside table and poured himself a cup, pouring another cup for her and holding it out to her. "My captors during the Great War gave me these scars."

"The Thalmor tortured you?" she asked.

"And let me escape. Here. Drink with your king," he said, and she took the cup, bringing it to her lips. "I do not wish to relive bad memories tonight, but to celebrate another Stormcloak victory that brings the true sons and daughters of Skyrim one step closer to liberation. Did you have any trouble obtaining the crown?"

"The Imperials were waiting for us when we got the Korvanjund. Galmar said there must be spies among your men who tipped them off."

"Void take them all." Ulfric stood, the blanket falling away as he reached his full height, and Luthien nearly gasped to see him standing there before her in nothing but his loincloth. He didn't seem to notice, and if he had, he obviously didn't care. "We need to let the Empire know we're serious, but first I must make sure I know exactly who will stand with me, and who stands against me."

She buried her face in her cup, gulping down quick drinks to avoid having to look at him.

"Tell me, Luthien…" he began, allowing for a long silence during which she marveled to herself that he had actually remembered her name. "Do you stand with me?"

"Of course I do," she answered. "You are my king."

"You only stand with me because I am your king, then? Or do you truly believe in what I am fighting for? What you will fight for every time you walk out of this castle wearing those colors?"

"I…"

"You stand with me to avenge your fallen husband, a noble reason to go to war. I have not forgotten why you came to me."

"I came to war to watch over my brother, whose grief has driven him to lust for vengeance. He will not rest until every Imperial within reach of his blade is dead, but my husband would not have wanted vengeance. He was not that kind of man."

"All men want vengeance, woman, and those who say they don't are lying to themselves. It is in a man's soul to protect that which is his from any and all who would dare try to take it away from him, and if that day comes when he must stand and fight, he will go to war to protect all that he loves. Just as I have gone to war to protect my homeland from an empire who refuses to govern it, and yet punishes its people for trying to govern themselves. Tell me, if it had been you the Imperials had slain that night, would your husband not be standing here in front me in your stead? Raw with hatred for those who'd taken away all that was dear to his heart?"

Luthien felt her throat tighten with emotion, a tickle just at the back of her tongue that no amount of coughing would ever clear. Only tears seemed to soothe that kind of ache, but she would not cry in front of this man, even if he commanded her as her king.

"A woman's heart knows forgiveness, but it is not so with a man's heart. The heart of a man will burn until the day he dies if his thirst for vengeance goes unquenched." Ulfric took a step toward her and lifted a hand to brush the braid back from her cheek. "Does your fragile woman's heart forgive the Empire who took that which you loved away from you?"

She was trembling, every muscle in her body wavering as the warmth of his hand against her skin moved through her.

"No."

His touch was soft, his large palm cradling her cheek as those eyes like steel cut into her soul. When she blinked, her tears fell down her cheeks and he swept his thumb out to tenderly brush them away.

"Do you lie awake at night, unable to find comfort because you know they are still out there somewhere, taking husbands away from wives, mothers and fathers away from their children?"

She swallowed hard and whispered, "Yes."

"Then you do believe in what I'm fighting for. You do truly stand beside me."

Ulfric's mouth came down soft over hers, moist lips parting as he held her there with nothing more than the power of his words. She didn't know why, but she opened herself to him, relaxing against his bare chest as he circled his arm around her waist and drew her closer.

She didn't know if it was the wine that made her dizzy, or how strong his kiss was, but she felt almost powerless when his long fingers slid down her face to work the leather straps of her armor.

"Warm my bed tonight," he whispered before drawing her ear between his lips and gently sucking as she shivered. "I do not wish to sleep alone."

Her mind raced. It was too soon. She'd never been with another man but Vilkas, had never imagined a day would come when she would lay with another, and certainly not a man like Ulfric Stormcloak. "I can't…" she started to protest.

"You can." His full lips kissed down the curve of her neck, across her collar bone as he drew the leather of her armor aside. "You will. I am your king," he reminded her. "I command it."

To say that Ulfric forced her into his bed would have been a lie. She'd stood there as he undressed her, closing her eyes and gasping when his warm, smooth hands reached up to cup her breast before he lowered his mouth to draw her between his gentle teeth, tongue flickering across the sensitive skin until she sucked in a quick breath and tangled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to hold him there.

When Ulfric rose, his wet mouth traveled up over her chest, along the curve of her neck, which she stretched to encourage him, across her chin until he met her lips again. He reached down behind her, lifting her against him and curling her long legs around his hips and then he walked her toward his bed, laying her back against the pillows. He stood up straight, loosened the ties of his loincloth, but it didn't fall away until he tugged it down.

She soon saw why, her eyes widening with guilty intrigue as he kneed up onto the bed. She hadn't thought about it before, that men actually came in different sizes, and it wasn't that Vilkas had been inadequate in any way, but Ulfric actually frightened her a little. As if he noted the trepidation in her eyes, he lowered slowly, strong kisses passing down her neck again, traveling over her breast, along the smooth curve of her stomach until he reached her hip bone.

Ulfric nudged her thighs further apart with his broad shoulders, trailing those fluttering kisses lower. Luthien stretched into him, her head rolling back into the soft pillow behind her, fingers clenching the fabric and mouth gasping open with surprise when his warm lips touched her in ways she'd never been touched before.

He brought her to pleasure so quickly, her entire body shuddered with release, soft moans echoing through his quiet room. Ulfric lifted his head to look at her, firelight burning in his eyes like steel just come from the forge as he dragged his tongue across his lower lip and began to crawl toward her like a sabre cat on the prowl. Her whole body felt like clay, warm, pliable under his strong hands as he shaped her form to his. She lifted upward to meet the slow lowering of his powerful hips, his heavy weight dropping down hard to crush her. She cried out, but not in protest. Her eager legs wrapped around him, pushing him deeper as she arched her spine, chest pressing into his.

It was guilty bliss that rang her pleasured cries through the Jarl's quarters, Ulfric driving her to the edge release before slowing his pace to draw out her torment before bringing her back to those heights again and again.

She'd known love with Vilkas and there had been passion between them, but Ulfric showed her passion unlike anything she'd ever dreamed. Ulfric was older, more experienced, and as he brought her to climax again and again, she hated herself for enjoying the things he was doing to her body, but she never wanted him to stop. For the first time in months, she wasn't cocooned in her own grief, lamenting the loss of everything she'd loved and taken for granted.

And she had taken her love with Vilkas for granted. Sure, they'd talked about how short life was so many nights while they lay in each other's arms, but she'd never thought too deeply beyond their next breath together. She'd always told herself that he would be there when she got home, welcome her with open arms and feverish kisses before arguing with her until dawn about things they had both thought were so important, but they weren't.

Ulfric rolled onto his back, bringing her with him and raising her up above him before drawing her back down slow. She turned her chin into her shoulder and closed her eyes, but Ulfric reached up and gripped her face, gently drawing her gaze back so she had no choice but to look him in the eye as he had her, body, mind, soul, so she knew who she laid with and would never forget it.

He raised upright, sitting with her in his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist, his strong hands lifting her, lowering her as he brought himself up to meet her again and again and again.


	9. Chapter 9

She was surprised by how tenderly Ulfric held her in his arms, the blanket drawn across their spent, feverish bodies, his hand stroking her bare arm thoughtfully in the dark. She could hear the frigid wind screaming outside the palace, but there with Ulfric she felt safe and warm. How could the man who held her be the same tyrannical breeder of lies and greed everyone said he was? The same man who'd shouted young King Torygg to death with his voice? The same man who was said to have tortured the women and murdered even the children during the Markarth Incident simply because they hadn't raised their swords to his cause.

Maybe her mind was still clouded by the pleasure of his touch, but it was growing harder and harder for her to believe the Ulfric Stormcloak who held her there with him was the same man she'd heard so many horrible stories about.

"I think it is time for me to send a message to the Imperial sympathizers in Whiterun," he contemplated aloud. "Particularly Balgruuf the Greater."

"You mean to attack the city then?" She immediately thought of Lydia and her brethren at Jorrvaskr.

"At this point in time I have no reason to attack, but I want you to take a message to Jarl Balgruuf for me."

"What sort of message?"

"I want you to give him my axe."

"Okay. Should I say anything to him?"

"Men who understand each other seldom need words. There are but a few simple truths behind one warrior giving another his axe." When she didn't say anything, Ulfric cleared his throat. "It is a gesture between two men, one Balgruuf will recognize as a call to arms. If he decides to keep the axe, I will bide my time until he brings it back to me himself, ready to stand beside me and fight as my brother in arms, but if he sends it back with you, then I will know he has chosen the wrong side." She listened to the low crackle of logs in the hearth behind the bed, as Ulfric's chest expanded with a heavy breath. "Will you do this thing for me?"

Luthien didn't know what to say. "I have family in Whiterun."

"If Balgruuf asks you to return my axe, you should warn them before you leave the city. Tell them to get out."

She wondered what Balgruuf would say, if she would feel as if she'd betrayed him even though he'd known when she first came to Whiterun her future lay with the Stormcloaks. He'd never even asked her why, had just assumed she'd been some kind of petty criminal, but he'd used her anyway, sending her off to find the Dragonstone so his wizard could work in secret with the Blades to find out why the dragons had returned.

"I will do this thing you ask."

"Good," he tightened his hand on her shoulder, drawing her in closer and kissing the top of her head. "Be careful with Balgruuf. He's known for his quick temper and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

"I will take my shield-brother."

"As you will," he conceded.

She hadn't expected to fall asleep so quickly. Her mind was racing with the possibility of going to war with Whiterun, but as Ulfric drew and released breath after breath, every exhale lulled, until she felt sleep draw her into its warm arms, where it held her close for the first time since Vilkas's death. She didn't dream, there were no nightmares of things she could have done, should have done… only sleep.

When she woke the next morning in Ulfric's bed alone, she was momentarily confused by her strange surroundings. Stretching beneath the coverlet, the empty spot in the bed where he'd been when she fell asleep was cold, as if he'd long ago left her there to sleep alone. She wondered what time it was, and then remembered she'd told Farkas she would meet him at Candlehearth Hall after delivering the crown to Ulfric.

n a panic, she climbed out of the king's bed and scrambled to put her clothes on, quickly combing her fingers through her hair and rebraiding it before strapping Wuuthrad across her back and heading down the long stairs into the mead hall. Ulfric was sitting on his throne, conducting business, and Farkas was chowing down at the end of the long table in the hall. When he looked up to see her enter from the war room, his face brightened.

"There you are," Ulfric said. "I was just telling your brother here that by the time we finished discussing strategy last night, it was so late I offered you a bed here in the palace."

"I don't think I realized just how exhausted I was."

"The jarl says we're headed home to Whiterun after breakfast," Farkas said.

"Yes, we're carrying an important message for him that cannot wait. I'll eat something on the road."

She walked toward Ulfric's throne and he bent down to retrieve the war axe propped on the floor beside him, handing it over to her. There was no sign in his eyes that they had shared anything more than conversation the night before, which confused her heart. In her limited experience, sex and love had gone hand in hand, but she knew the Jarl of Windhelm didn't love her. She'd done nothing more for him than sate his lust and warm his bed, but she would not let him see her shame.

"Talos guide you," Ulfric said, uncurling his fingers from the handle and releasing it to her.

"And you."

She hitched the king's war axe to her belt and turned away from him. Grabbing an apple from a bowl on the table, she left the palace with Farkas quickly running out after her. The cold morning air upon her face did little to sharpen her muddled mind. Her guilty conscience kept her silent as they walked, a part of her fearing that if she looked Farkas in the eye, he would know her shame and never forgive her for what she'd done to his brother.

Thankfully, Farkas was all wrapped up in his own misadventures, which he proceeded to share with her as soon as they were outside the city walls. Apparently the ladies of Windhelm had been more than just a little intrigued by his Stormcloak uniform and he'd woken up with not one, but two of them in his bed.

"So I'm a little glad you didn't catch me in that position, if you know what I mean." He grinned stupidly. She'd heard that kind of story from him before, and had always laughed along with him in kind, but she wasn't exactly feeling very good about men in general so hearing about his exploits made her blood boil underneath her skin.

"And did you know there's a murderer in Windhelm? Some guy's been running around hacking the women to bits, carving strange symbols into their dead bodies. They're all terrified," he shook his head. "Not that I'd ever take advantage of a frightened girl, but…"

"But you did," she shot back over her shoulder. Just like Ulfric Stormcloak had taken advantage of her, bringing her emotions to the surface and the sweeping in for the kill. The cut of her tone wiped the cunning smile from his face. Chastised, he quickly lowered his gaze like a little boy who'd been caught with his hand on a sweet roll just seconds before dinner.

"I didn't mean to," he muttered, still afraid to lift his gaze to meet hers. "It just happens that way sometimes."

"Men," she snarled, hiking ahead of him and refusing to talk to him for the rest of the morning.

She hadn't realized how disillusioned she'd been on the subject of men, but then Vilkas had been an honorable man. While his brother had been out wenching, he'd saved himself for the right woman, and when he'd found her, he'd married her after committing all of himself to her. There was no telling how many women Farkas had dishonored in his twenty-five years, or how many women had fallen prey to Ulfric Stormcloak's honeyed words as he commanded them to lay their bodies down because their king commanded it.

She had dishonored the sanctity of her marriage vows, and as much as she wanted to lay that blame at Ulfric's feet, she had not refused his touch. She had actually enjoyed it, allowing herself to forget her grief and anguish for a short time in the comfort of a strong man's arms. A man who didn't love her, would probably never love her.

How did all the women Farkas had defiled live with themselves? How did Farkas live with himself.

As if her thoughts had reached him, he ran to catch up with her, nudging into her playfully. "Are you gonna be mad at me all day because I didn't sleep alone last night? You know you had your chance with me," he teased. "I offered to make an honest woman of you before my brother got under your skin, but you turned me down."

She didn't know how he always managed to do it, but she started to laugh, remembering the day he spoke of. They'd gone to get the fragments of Wuuthrad for Skjor. That had been the day she'd learned the Companions' darkest secret, and started to come to terms with her own inner yearnings. He'd accused her of loving Vilkas that day, said she was lying to herself every time she said it wasn't true. Turned out he'd been right along, but he'd never stopped teasing her about choosing the wrong brother whenever she was mad at him.

"I'm not mad at you," she gave in. "I'm mad at myself."

"Because of me?" His brow furrowed with confusion.

"No, because I did something really stupid."

"Oh," he shrugged. "Is that all? I do really stupid things all the time."

"Why do you think I'm so upset about it? The last thing I want is to wind up like you," she grinned and leaned into him as they walked.

"Did you go out wenching last night? Pick up a couple broads, take them back to your room and make promises you knew you'd never keep?"

"Something like that," she sighed. "I'm just not very happy today, and I really don't want to talk about it, but I'm not mad at you, all right? I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"Want me to cheer you up with a story?" he asked. "How about a song? There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…"

"No singing," she chuckled. "You'll alert every blasted bear and Imperial in Whiterun hold."

"…who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead…"

The gruff sound of his off-key singing voice did actually cheer her up, and before she knew it, she'd joined him in song, the two of them making the journey to Whiterun and forgetting their troubles the best they could with song. It kept her mind off of her guilt, off the soft feel of Ulfric's mouth exploring her body, from the task that lay ahead and what it would mean if Balgruuf handed Ulfric's axe back to her.

As they made their way up to the gates of Whiterun three days later, it was early evening. She had thought to change out of their Stormcloak armor before entering the city, but Farkas had said no. He didn't care what anyone thought of them. Let them talk, and if the Battle-Borns had something to say to him, his fist would answer in kind. So they marched through the gates in full Stormcloak attire, ignoring the strange looks the guards gave them as they made their way past Breezehome, through the merchant circle and up into the Wind District.

She looked to Jorrvaskr first, wondering if she would have to warn Aela and the others that war was coming, and then turned her sights on Dragonsreach. She couldn't count the number of times she'd walked those stairs, reporting to the jarl himself after completing some important job, or seeking out Proventus for more work.

She had tried to imagine Balgruuf's response dozens of times on the journey. Despite his ego, the Jarl of Whiterun was a clever man, and as long as she'd known him, he'd always held the people of his hold above all else. When she'd asked him about Ulfric and the Civil War the first time she'd met him, he'd seemed far more concerned with the return of the dragons than Ulfric's quest for the crown. Now that he was being asked to take a side, would he choose the right one, and stand with the true sons and daughters of Skyrim? Or would he force Ulfric's hand, more or less inviting Stormcloak troops to march on Whiterun?

Irileth, the jarl's housecarl, had never trusted her, and when she saw her walking toward the throne, she immediately stepped into her path and crossed her arms. "And just where do you think you're going? If you think for a moment that I'm going to just let you walk up to my jarl…"

"I have a message for Jarl Balgruuf from Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm."

"Give this message to me, and I will deliver it to him."

"Ulfric has asked me to hand deliver it to Jarl Balgruuf personally."

Balgruuf sat up in his throne, intrigued by her words. "Irileth, let her come forward." The woman didn't move aside without muttering to Luthien as she passed by, "I've got my eye on you. One false move, and I'll make you regret the day you were born."

Farkas lingered at her back, hand on the hilt of his sword as he narrowed his gaze over Irileth. She'd warned him, told him what they had come for and mentioned that Ulfric said Balgruuf might not be so eager to receive the message they brought.

"I see you've finally chosen your side," Balgruuf said, looking over the uniform she wore. "What does Ulfric want with me?"

She unhitched the war axe from her belt and held it forward. "He sends his axe."

Balgruuf swallowed; Luthien saw his adam's apple bob as he surveyed the axe she held to him, then reached out to take it.

"So," he began. "It seems Ulfric is no longer willing to sit idly on his thrown looking for ways to take advantage of his people's love for him."

"My Jarl, does this mean what I think it means?" Proventus asked.

Balgruuf looked between his steward and his housecarl, then returned his gaze to Luthien. "I must confer with my council. Return to me in one hour and I will give you my decision."

"As you wish," she bowed her head, turning on heel and marching back out of Dragonsreach with Farkas behind her.

"Did that go well?" he asked, following her down the stairs.

"We'll see in an hour. In the meantime, I have to speak with Vignar and I need to pay a visit to Lydia."

"Lydia," Farkas nodded approval. "I like Lydia."

"Is there a single woman in Whiterun you haven't slept with?"

"Lillith Maiden-Loom," he shuddered. "That old hag gives me the shivers."


	10. Chapter 10

She went to see Vignar Grey-Mane in Jorrvaskr first. Vilkas had once told her he was the oldest living member of the companions, even older than Kodlak had been at the time of his death, and Vignar had seen the coming and going of more Harbingers than the old man could actually remember. He tended to overlook things in Jorrvaskr when she was away, helping Aela make sure jobs got done. He'd never been unkind to her, but she often felt as if he was looking down his nose at her. She'd overheard him saying more than once that he thought she was too young to be Harbinger, but he'd never said as much to her face.

As she sat down to explain to him why she'd come back to Whiterun, Vignar actually listened to everything she had to say without interrupting her. He was an avid supporter of Ulfric's cause, and if it came down to a Stormcloak raid on the city, he would stand beside them.

"I just don't want to see any of the Companions get hurt in the melee if it does come to battle," she said.

"The Companions are warriors, girl, or have you forgotten that since you became their Harbinger. If battle comes knocking on our doors, we'll answer with our swords drawn."

"Fair enough," she nodded. "I just wanted to make sure everyone was aware. The Companions are my family."

Vignar assured her that the Companions would be fine, no matter what the jarls felt they needed to do. She left him, passing through the quiet mead hall on her way out the doors and taking pause for a moment to look around. She hadn't spent nearly enough time there in the last two years, had stayed away almost entirely after Vilkas had died, for fear it wouldn't feel like home anymore without him there.

But it did. It's warm, bright walls decorated with the shields of a thousand warriors, Vilkas's among them, made her feel comfortable and safe as the day she'd first come to that place looking for a home. They had taken her in, given her comfort, made her a part of their family and shared everything they had with her.

Lydia was disappointed to learn they were leaving again so soon, but even more distraught that Luthien told her she couldn't come with them. She had no allegiance to the Stormcloaks, and no need to join in Ulfric's war. Luthien was afraid her housecarl would get killed in the fray, fighting for things that didn't matter to her one way or another. Some thanes believed that's what a housecarl was for, but not Luthien. Lydia was her friend, as well as her servant, more friend than servant most days. Despite her silent, protesting eyes, she gave her a job to do on her behalf, one that would keep her away from Whiterun for at least a month. She only hoped a month was long enough.

"If this is what you wish, my thane, I will do it, even if I would rather take up my sword and fight beside you."

"There will be other battles for you to fight at my side, Lydia. I swear it."

She saw them to the door and hung on the front steps watching them make their way back up to Dragonsreach to receive Jarl Balgruuf's answer. It had been a long time since Luthien had felt such tightness in her guts, as if their entire world hinged on that one reply. She felt like Ulfric was counting on her, that if she returned his war axe to him, he would hold her accountable for not swaying Balgruuf to his point of view. For all she knew, that could be exactly how he responded. She really didn't know what kind of man Ulfric was, beyond what she'd read in books, seen with her own two eyes.

His lover's touch seemed to paint him in a much softer light, but the man he was in the bedroom and the man who sat upon the throne Ysgramor himself had once sat were not one in the same. Ulfric was dedicated to his cause, and he firmly believed every one of his own words the way a servant of the gods believed in the scriptures they dedicated their life to studying. If she came back to him with his axe in her hands, would he lash out at her for failing him?

Balgruuf the Greater relaxed in his throne, almost slouching as she and Farkas made their way up the stairs. Irileth scowled at her when she passed by and Proventus squinted, as if narrowing his eyes might actually give him some insight into her choice to side with the Stormcloaks. None of them knew anything about her, even though she'd lived in that city more than three years and worked hard to keep Balgruuf's peace for him by holding the dragons at bay.

"I have come for your answer," she said, hoping her voice didn't waver when she spoke. It did not.

The jarl sat up straight then, reaching down beside his chair and lifting Ulfric's axe across the arms of his throne to rest it there. "Return this to the man who sent you and tell him he has my answer."

Luthien blinked slowly, nodding concession as she reached to curl her fingers around the outstretched weapon Balgruuf held to her. "I will deliver your answer to my king. The true High King of Skyrim."

She started to walk away, but Balgruuf called after her. "Your king?" He scoffed a little. "What kind of a king would put his own lust for power ahead of the welfare of his people?"

"Come on, Farkas," she grabbed the sleeve of his armor and drew him down the stairs with her. "We have our answer."

"Perhaps when you get back to Windhelm, you will ask this king of yours that very question," Balgruuf shouted as they reached the last stair, his voice breaking a little from nerves, perhaps, or fear. "What about his people?"

No amount of jesting or singing on the road was enough to lift Luthien from her dark thoughts and foul mood, and even worse was that Farkas didn't seem to understand why she was so upset. So what if Balgruuf hadn't sided with Ulfric, it meant more blood for their blades, and would likely push them into battle far sooner than either of them had expected.

"The blood of people you have known all your life, Farkas. You were a guardsman once," she reminded him. "You and Vilkas both stood with the men of the Whiterun watch many a night, and now if Ulfric marches us into Whiterun you will stand and fight against people you have known since you were just a boy. This is why I didn't want to join the Stormcloaks in the first place. Don't you get it? Do you really think Vilkas would want us to march on our own city, raising our swords against men we once called friend?"

He grew thoughtful for a moment, lines of confusion furrowing his high brow as a lock of hair fell in to rest over his eye. "If it had been you who'd died that night, he would march wherever Ulfric told him to go without question. His sword arm would never rest and his heart would know no comfort until long after every Imperial in Skyrim was dead."

"Do you really believe that?" She didn't, and yet everyone around her kept telling her that was what he would have done if their roles had been reversed. "That if it had been you or me who'd died instead of Vilkas, he would be here now, in this same position, running errands for a king whose mind is so clouded by his own lust for power he can't even see he's tearing the very land, the people he claims to love so much to pieces."

"Yes," Farkas nodded. "I really do believe that. I know it in my heart, and you should too, Lu. You remember how he was when the Silver Hand killed Kodlak…"

"This isn't the Silver Hand, Farkas. It's the Empire, and maybe you've forgotten how hard it was to deal with the action we took against the Silver Hand, but he suffered for it more deeply than you could even begin to imagine. Vilkas was tired of letting the fire of his heart lead him into battle with no purpose."

"Is that what you really think?" he stopped and reached out to spin her around to face him. "You think we're doing this without reason? Is the death of the man you loved with every part of you not reason enough to go to war?"

"It is the only reason I go to war." She drew her arm from the firm press of his fingers into her flesh. "Because my heart is empty without him, and I know he would never forgive me if I let you run off into this to fight alone, but you're fooling yourself if you believe for a single second Vilkas would have wanted us to choose a side in this ridiculous, purposeless war to avenge him. You knew your brother better than anyone else, Farkas. You shared a soul with him. Listen to your heart, and I mean really listen and you will hear him."

Every part of him was shaking, with anger and sorrow, and at first when she reached out to take his hand, she thought he was going to pull away. "It is too late to take it all back now. We have to live with our choices, but it's time we accept them for what they are and stop using Vilkas as an excuse to shed blood. Because no matter how many Imperial soldiers we kill in this war… be it two or two thousand, their blood will never make the hurting stop."

"I have listened to my heart. It's the only sound I can hear." He surprised her then, tugging his hand from hers as he said, "And I think you're wrong," before turning his back on her and walking ahead without her.


	11. Chapter 11

They did not speak again during the entire journey back to Windhelm. She wanted to reach out to him, to try and smooth things over, but in the three years they'd known one another, Farkas had never been angry with her. She didn't know what to say, or how to make things right again because he truly believed in what they were doing and that was not something she could just give in to to please him. She believed she was right, and so for the first time, they brooded in silence and didn't even say goodbye as Farkas made his way toward Candlehearth Hall and she headed up the stairs to the Palace of the Kings.

It was late, or rather it was early. It was two o'clock, and just as she'd feared the Jarl of Windhelm was abed. She made her way up the long, winding stairs and stood outside his door for nearly fifteen minutes arguing with herself about whether or not she should knock. She didn't want to face him, see the look of disappointment in his eye when she handed back his war axe, but more than that, she didn't want to find herself in his bed again, wrapped in his arms and her own shame.

Drawing in a deep breath, she realized as she exhaled she would have to face him sooner or later, and if she left the palace and came back in the morning and he found out she hadn't come to him straight away, he would be even more angry. Lifting her hand, she knocked gently on the door, and Ulfric called out for her to come in before she'd even finished knocking.

He was sitting at the table with a book and a flagon of mead, and barely looked up when she entered. It wasn't until she approached that he finally lifted his eyes from the words on the page. He looked tired, the whites of his eyes red with lack of sleep. She wondered if he ever slept at all.

He closed the book, and she saw branded across its leather spine: THE TALOS MISTAKE. Ulfric saw her read the words and without question began to explain.

"The Thalmor and the Empire fear that if the ascension of Tiber Septim to godhood continues to inspire mankind, more will aspire to such heights, as if this world would be worse off if it were ruled by men with the power to become gods." He pushed the chair away from the table and rose to stand, his great height towering over her. "They are all fools, who fear the power man is capable of achieving. Talos was truly a god among men, and to tell us we cannot offer praises in his name is sacrilege. Why can a man not become a god?"

"Talos be praised," she agreed.

"You are Dragonborn, just as he was," Ulfric pointed out. "The Thalmor would crush you like a bug between their greedy fingers if they could, simply out of fear that with your deeds you might rise up and unite your people to a greater cause than the one _they_ have designed for us." The back of his finger swept thoughtfully down the bone of her cheek, his sad eyes searching hers. "But I would never let them touch you."

"I have an answer from Jarl Balgruuf," she said.

"Shh—" Ulfric lifted a finger to her lips to quiet her and then stepped in to rest his hands on her shoulders. "I do not wish to speak of things that will stoke the fires of my anger right now."

Luthien swallowed the rising bitterness in her throat. "Then I will take my leave and come back to see you in the morning."

"No," he shook his head, lowering his full mouth over hers, lips parting to show her which fires he did wish to stoke. "Warm my bed."

"My king, I…"

"Yes." He tilted downward to taste her lips again, drawing her body closer to his as he reminded her, "I am your king."

With steady hands, Ulfric peeled away the layers of her armor until she stood naked and trembling before him. She trembled not out of fear, but anticipation, her mind knowing that what she was about to do was wrong, but her body craved his touch. Something about giving into Ulfric's pleasures took her away from the awful darkness that seemed to dwell inside her, and she didn't even understand why. It wasn't as if he loved her, really even cared if she lived or died. She was just a body to him, a warm place to hide from his own troubles for a little while.

Ulfric drew back to take her in, his eyes glinting with the light of approval before he reached for her hand and led her into his bed once more.

With Vilkas, it had been making love, but she didn't know what to call the things she did with Ulfric. He drove her to such intense heights, she was sure every servant in the palace knew she'd lain her body down for the High King, but wrapped up in the moment, in the pleasure of his mouth, his body, his strong arms holding her so close she never wanted to let go, she didn't care what it was or who knew they were doing it.

She was able to let go of her anguish, her doubts and reservations, and give in to Ulfric's will, her body answering his as they tangled together in the sheets until they were sore and tired, but both too stubborn to let go of each other.

It seemed to go on for hours, that strange game they played together, but even then she never wanted it to end.

Afterward, she didn't fight with herself or let her guilt overrun her, but instead went willingly into his arms and found her hand reaching for his, fingers curling together atop his chest as she caught her breath and let the warm waves of spent bliss wash over her again and again. It may not have been love, she told herself, but it felt good, and perhaps one day she would even come to feel real affection for this man who brought her screaming to her knees for him. Even if she did often find herself questioning every one of his motives.

"You've made your king a very happy man," Ulfric murmured, drawing her even closer.

"Perhaps since your mood is so good, now would be the time to tell you the news I bring from Whiterun."

"Tell me."

"Balgruuf returned your axe," she swallowed hard against the apprehension rising in her, but Ulfric did not move. He didn't stiffen, or push her away, he just laid there and when she lifted her head to look down at him, she saw his eyes were closed.

"So be it," he muttered, hand reaching up to tangle into her hair and lower her head back to his chest. "Tomorrow, I will send Galmar and reinforcements to our camp outside Whiterun. We will wrench the city from Imperial hands and claim it as our own. I want you on the frontline in this battle."

"If it please you my lord."

"There is something about you… I don't quite know what it is, but I have felt it since you first walked through the doors of this place. I feel that with you on my side, I could win this war."

"For the people of Skyrim?" _Or for yourself?_

"For the people of Skyrim," he agreed. "Report to Galmar in the morning, and he will give you your orders."

"As you wish."

"For now, I have a few more private orders I'd like you to carry out."

"Yes, my king?" She drew up to look down at him, wondering what he could possibly need done at so late an hour.

Ulfric's fingers crawled through the hair at the nape of her neck, tightening as he drew her down to meet his hungry mouth before rolling her onto her back and positioning himself to conquer and claim her again.


	12. Chapter 12

She woke in Ulfric's bed alone again, but the mattress was still warm where he'd lain and when she sat up to look around, she found him dressing near the wardrobe, drawing his cloak of raven feathers over his broad shoulders and securing it in place with a jeweled broach. He glanced back at her, all traces of the soft man she knew in the darkness washed away by morning's light.

"Galmar is waiting for us in the war room," he said, reaching for the door handle.

"I will be right there."

She didn't linger, quickly stepping back into her armor and ignoring the ache of her sore muscles as she bent down to button her boots. Taking the steps two at a time didn't seem to get her to the bottom of them any faster, but she realized she could have taken her time when she opened the door into the war room and found Ulfric pacing the floors while Galmar shared his thoughts on the upcoming attack at Whiterun. He promised Ulfric he would kick down the walls of Whiterun with his bare feet if he had to, which made Ulfric laugh.

"There you are." Ulfric looked up at her, as if he'd been waiting for hours, and hadn't just left her in his bed a few moments before. He was like two different people, her lover and her king, though in the dark she swore those two men were one in the same. "I've already told Galmar that I want you on the front line. If you have any questions for him, now would be the time to ask."

She turned from Ulfric and focused her attention on Galmar, who began spewing orders so fast, she wished she had someone to write them down in case she missed something and needed a review later. She was supposed to grab Farkas first, and then travel to the Stormcloak encampment just below Whiterun as quickly as they could. He would meet them there, and together they would raise the city from its roots and bring those Imperial puppets to their knees.

"I'll leave right now," she conceded, swinging Wuuthrad over her shoulder and securing it against her back.

"What are you still standing there for," Galmar barked. "Get moving, soldier. Go. Go!"

"Going now, General."

Ulfric had left the room while Galmar gave her orders, but he was standing on the other side of the door when she came through it. Reaching for her hand as she moved past him, he squeezed her fingers and said, "Gods be with you," and then he let her go, as though he hadn't even touched her at all.

She found Farkas in Candlehearth Hall, two young women sitting on each side of him, hanging on his every words like honey bees around a flower. He barely looked up when she approached the table, but went on telling the story they were both so avidly thriving on. "… and then I drew my bow back and loosed not one, but two arrows right into the dragon's throat. You should have heard it scream."

The Dunmer bard stroked a chord, and in a clear voice began to sing The Age of Oppression. At first, Luthien wanted to yank Farkas up out of his chair and drag his smug ass down the stairs, but it had been awhile since she'd heard the song and she found its passion seeping into her blood. "We will drive out the Empire from this land that we own. With our blood and our steel, we will take back our home. All hail to Ulfric, you are the High King, in your great honor we drink and we sing. We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives. When Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies. But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams…"

Chills rippled across the surface of her skin, from head to toe. Had Ulfric ever heard the woman sing, she wondered, her voice ringing out in his praises despite the obvious oppression of the Dunmer in Windhelm? Skyrim may have once belonged to the Nords, but it had become home to so many wanderers who'd lost their spirit and their homes to the Empire. He had to see that.

"And now a very special honor." the bard cleared her throat and began to strum her lute again. "Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart. I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes. With a voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art, believe, believe the Dragonborn comes…"

Some Dragonborn warrior she was turning out to be; she looked away from the woman in shame, turning and approaching the table. As much as she hated admitting it to herself, she supposed she was no better than Ulfric, ignoring her purpose and her people, her warrior's heart that knew the true scourge sullying all of their hopes and dreams went well beyond the Empire.

Luthien raised her arms to cross them over her chest, catching Farkas's glance, but he quickly looked away.

"Where was I?" he ignored her.

"You were on your way to war, soldier. We're moving out. I have orders from General Galmar. We're marching on the city and we leave at once."

That caught his attention, his two lady friends pouting as he pushed his chair away from the table they'd been sharing. "Do you really have to go, Farkas?"

"Duty calls, girls. Pray to Talos for me."

Luthien rolled her eyes and turned away, making her way down the stairs and out the doors, not even looking back to make sure he was behind her. They went on that way for quite a while, out the city gates and several miles outside Windhelm before Farkas finally stepped up beside her and asked, "So, we're really marching on Whiterun?"

"Those are our orders."

"Wow."

"Yeah," she muttered. "Wow."

"I wasn't sure Ulfric would actually go through with it. Word in the city is, people think he's held back too long, and the war itself will fizzle out long before he actually makes his move."

"Well, I guess word in the city is about to change then."

"Yeah…" They walked for a ways, not speaking again, and then Farkas finally broke the silence. "Look, Lu, I know you're pretty mad at me, and I think I understand why, but if we're going into battle, I'd rather have you beside me, than somewhere lost among the melee where I can't keep an eye on you."

"I'm sorry we don't agree, Farkas. I wish we could always agree, but sometimes we won't."

"I know, and I'm sorry too. I guess I'm real messed up inside. I haven't been right since…"

She knew. He didn't have to finish; she didn't think he could anyway. "I'm not sure I'll ever be right again. I don't even know who I am anymore without Vilkas, and maybe the pain will one day lessen enough that we can feel whole again… I just don't know."

"Me either."

"All I do know is that we can't get lost from each other in the middle of all this chaos. You're my best friend, all I have left in this world. I don't want to lose you too. Not because of a disagreement."

"I'm sorry." His hand lowered onto her shoulder, drawing her against his chest as his arms came around her. "Let's not ever do that whole fighting thing again."

"At least not with each other. We've got a town full of Imperials we can fight with."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I have to accept my choices and give my heart to this cause. Ulfric wants me on the front line and Galmar seems to agree. I signed up for this, so I don't really have a choice."

"We could run away." For the first time in days she saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "I hear The Pale is nice this time of year."

"The Pale is never nice," she chuckled. "And I have a feeling not even the Pale could hide us from Ulfric's wrath if we left him in a lurch. I guess we're just going to have to suck it up and go to war, even if I started out not fully supporting the whole notion."

"Are you starting to change your mind?"

"I don't know. Ulfric has said some things to me that made me think… things about the Empire in bed with the Thalmor, and what the Thalmor might do if they got their hands on someone like me."

"You mean because you're the Dragonborn?"

"We still have no idea why the dragons have come back, and maybe the Thalmor have something to do with that. While we tear each other apart, they lie in the shadows waiting until we're weak and broken… I don't know." Her voice trailed on that thought. "There was a woman in Riverwood long ago who said she wanted to help me… more like she wanted me to help her, but I refused her. Perhaps if we live through this whole stupid war, I should go back and see her again, if it's not too late."

"I'll go with you."

She could tell she was starting to lose him, so she steered the conversation to lighter things, things that kept her own mind off of the tight nervous ball in her stomach at the thought of the battle that awaited them. At night, while they camped under the stars, trading off watch duty so they could both get at least two hours sleep, Luthien found her thoughts wandering to Ulfric as she scanned the dark horizon and listened to the wind wail through the trees at her back.

She wondered if he had another woman who warmed his bed in her absence, even though both times she had gone to him he'd been alone and hadn't been expecting her. Even if he did bring another into his bed, why should she even care? She didn't love him, and she was relatively sure he didn't love her either… though what was that whole gesture before she'd left? Him grabbing her hand, squeezing her fingers as he muttered, "Gods be with you."

Closing her eyes, she leaned her back into the tree behind her and tried not to think about Ulfric Stormcloak anymore, but it was damn near impossible to clear those sad eyes, the deep rumble of his contemplative voice, the whisper of his skin against her skin, the deep drink of his hungry kiss, his strong hands kneading the flesh of her hips as he drew her down to meet him again and again…

She was such a fool. If Vilkas were watching over her from Sovngarde, he was probably spitting at her, but the heroes in Sovngarde didn't have time to watch over the living below. They were busy drinking and feasting in the Hall of Heroes, sharing songs and stories of valor as they challenged each other to hearty brawls before embracing and complimenting one another on a battle well-fought.

Maybe one day she would see him there again, and he would hold her in his arms and tell her she had fought well, brought honor to her sisters and brothers and herself… or maybe he wouldn't know her at all when she arrived because she'd given herself to another man.

She wanted to go back to thinking Ulfric Stormcloak was a liar and a fascist whose only passion was for power, but as soon as she started to follow that train of thought back to where it first began, she found herself getting stuck on the feel of his hand brushing down her cheek as he promised, "I would never let them touch you."


	13. Chapter 13

They heard the sound of explosions and catapult fire long before they reached the Whiterun encampment just below the city. The battle had already started, the two sides volleying heavy fire back and forth, soldiers taunting each other from a distance, sending arrows across the lines that divided them from the battle that promised to claim them all. The dark smell of ash and burning flesh was almost enough to sicken her stomach, but she held strong and pushed through the masses of Stormcloak soldiers who barely even noticed as she passed through.

"I should have known you two would be here," Ralof said, running up to meet them. He clapped Farkas on the back and stepped back to look them over, an excited gleam in his eyes that reminded her of the fire she'd seen in him the day they escaped Helgen together. "I don't know what we're waiting for," he shook his head. "These soldiers are ready to fight."

She couldn't deny the breathtaking sight of so many men gathered in one place. She'd never seen so many Stormcloaks. Some of them had armor so threadbare, the tattered blue edges of their cuirasses rippled like torn flags in the breeze, but Ulfric's bear standard blazed strong and true.

She found Galmar in the war tent, combing over his battle plans with a careful finger. Farkas lingered at her back when she stepped in and announced, "Reporting in, General."

"Good, you're finally here," he growled, pushing up from the table and wiping his hands together. "I was beginning to think you'd tucked your tails between your legs and run the other way."

"Never sir," Luthien grinned.

"Excellent," he nodded, drawing his bear helmet down over his head. "Let's take this city and wipe our arses with it."

He started rallying the men as he stalked toward the front line, Luthien and Farkas at his back. The soldiers followed, forming an eager line as Galmar's gruff voice belted out orders. "Ulfric wants us to do everything we can to keep the defensive wall intact," he bellowed. "We need to move in quick and lower that drawbridge without too much damage."

Another heavy fire explosion shook the ground beneath their feet, and she felt Farkas's hand on her shoulder. He was trembling, and she wasn't sure if it had finally hit him that they were going to war, or if he was just itching to drop his warhammer on the Imperials that waited behind the walls of Whiterun.

"They say that our cause is false," Galmar's voice seemed more powerful than that explosion as he lifted his arm to keep their attention. "They say that we are nothing more than thieves and thugs and murderers! But no! We are farmers and craftsman. The sons and daughters of merchants, maid-servants and soldiers. We are the true sons and daughters of Skyrim! Everyone, on me! Let's show these Imperial milk-drinkers what true Nords look like!"

"For Skyrim!"

"Everybody, on me!"

The unanimous sound of celebration behind her as her fellow soldiers lifted their shields together took her breath away. She'd fought dark wizards, ethereal beasts, draugr scourges that shouted back at her with voices so strong it rattled her bones and dragons… but never before had she felt such a call to arms in her life. Her own arm lifted, her voice joining theirs in chorus as they cried out for Skyrim, for Ulfric, and then they charged into battle.

It was complete chaos, and though she and Farkas tried to stand together, fighting side by side and back to back as they hammered their way through the barricade, it wasn't long before they lost one another in the heavy shuffle of armor and bloodshed. Luthien hacked her way through Imperials and Whiterun guards, telling herself that they had chosen their sides, and that as much as she wanted to hold back her arm against men who'd once looked after her home while she slept, she couldn't.

So much confusion amidst the melee, Imperials tangled with Stormcloaks, brothers in arms accidentally battling through one another and moving on, thirsty for blood no matter who it came from, it seemed. Luthien struggled through the battle, bringing Wuuthrad down, slashing its blade across the armored belly of an Imperial who came at her promising to end her to the gods. She leapt over his body and moved onto the next, the adrenaline pumping through her so hard she thought for sure she'd explode from the sheer intensity of it all.

She heard Farkas's distinct voice over her left shoulder, taunting his foe as he hollered, "I'm gonna crush you like a bug, Imperial scum."

The amount of time it took to reach the drawbridge was indeterminable. It could have taken an hour, or it could have been ten minutes; there was simply no way to gage time in the midst of battle. She swept her war axe through the guards protecting the lever, not even bothering to make sure they were dead where they lay before she lowered the bridge and heard the thunderous roll of a thousand feet passing over the bridge into Whiterun.

She finished off the guards and met with a wounded Imperial who begged for mercy as she approached. She gave him the mercy of her blade, and then stepped over his still body to make her way into the city to join her brothers-in-arms. The soldiers had already hacked down the barricade at the top of the merchant's circle by the time she made her way there. Ralof, Farkas and a handful of other soldiers were battling through a dispatch of Imperials as they stormed the steps to Dragonsreach.

Luthien glanced over at Jorrvaskr as she hiked the steps and saw Vignar Greymane lingering near the Skyforge, arms crossed, a broad smile of approval as she met his gaze. They hammered through the gates of Dragonsreach, meeting with Balgruuf's guard, who went down fighting beneath a fury of Stormcloak hatred and fire.

She spied Balgruuf at the top of the steps, donning his armor, sword trembling in his hand. Irileth stood in front of him, her wide-set eyes ablaze with challenge. Luthien remembered the elven woman's arrogance, how vehemently she'd distrusted her since the day she'd first come to Whiterun years before. Even in the face of that first dragon enemy they'd found side by side to diminish, Irileth hadn't liked her. Luthien felt her own fire blaze inside her, and charged toward the dark elf to batter through her and get to Balgruuf.

Ralof attacked the jarl, and behind them she heard Galmar's gruff laugh, the sound of his heavy boots making their way up the stairs.

"Well, we find you in a very interesting position, Balgruuf the Lesser."

"Enough," Balgruuf threw up his arm, staggering Ralof backward. "Enough. That's enough. I surrender," he called out as he lowered his shield, bending at the waist to catch his breath. "I surrender."

Luthien shoved Irileth aside and stepped up to face Balgruuf, who still had his sword out. She wondered for a moment as he stood there wavering in front of her if he would use it. "In the name of Ulfric Stormcloak, true High King of Skyrim, do you surrender?"

"I surrender," Balgruuf said again. "Just give me a few hours to gather my household and evacuate the castle."

Vignar made his way up the stairs, his broad grin even broader than it had been on the stairs. "That's right, Balgruuf. Get your things and get out of my castle."

"Vignar Grey-Mane, you treacherous snake," Balgruuf spat on the floor at his feet.

"You… you're the new Jarl of Whiterun?" Luthien squinted up at the old man, and he flashed his teeth at her.

"You're not as dumb as you look," he lamented. "I won't have much time to sit around Jorrvaskr sharing stories and drinking mead, but you come to me with your concerns about the city from here on out, or talk to my new steward, Brill."

Luthien nodded respectfully and began to back away from the jarl's throne.

"I'm pretty sure I killed more men than you," Ralof said as she stepped up to meet with him and Farkas when Galmar took over. "I was counting."

"You can't count." Farkas wrinkled his brow.

"Neither can you."

And the two of them rumbled into fits of laughter that to Luthien felt strange and inappropriate. But then she was a woman, as Ulfric Stormcloak had so vehemently pointed out to her. She had a woman's heart and in the aftermath of so much bloodshed, her fragile woman's heart felt heavy with grief. Good men and women had died that day, Stormcloaks, Imperials, in the end it didn't matter. Their blood stained the streets of Whiterun, and no matter how many nights of rain fell on the city, that blood would never wash clean.

"I don't need to know how to count to know I killed more Imperials than she did."

Luthien squinted over at both of them, her face a blank slate as she tried to find the courage inside her to appear happy in front of them. They had just won a major victory, and she should be celebrating. She knew that. She wondered if the other women on the battlefield, the ones who'd lived at least, felt the same way she did, or if there was just something wrong with her.

"Dragonborn," Galmar's heavy hand came down on her shoulder, drawing her around to face him. "Get over to Windhelm straight away. Tell Ulfric of our victory here today."

"Yes, General."

"You fought well out there," he leaned in closer, his arm affectionately drawing her near. "You should be proud."

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "I am proud," she admitted, though she just didn't know of what. Of all the blood that coated her blade? Of the men she'd slain as they begged for her mercy?

Galmar's hard fingers squeezed into her shoulder. "Good. Now get going. To Windhelm. Ulfric is waiting for news of our victory."

Galmar sent Ralof and Farkas with her, and while the two of them continued trading feats of battle as they walked, Luthien kept quiet with her thoughts. She was so confused, a part of her not even sure what they were really fighting for, or if any of it would even be worth it when all was said and done. Ulfric said they were fighting for their freedom, for the right to govern themselves and wrench the power away from the Thalmor, the true puppetmaster behind the Empire.

But what if all those who said that Ulfric was only fighting out of greed and a lust for power spoke true? She didn't know what to think anymore, and it didn't seem like she was going to figure it out anytime soon. So she smiled when they invited her to join in their merriment, and watched the Farkas she knew begin to fade before her very eyes.

Or maybe it was her who was changing. She didn't know and in the end, she supposed it didn't matter.


	14. Chapter 14

She cursed the moons as she walked through the gates of Windhelm, parting ways with Farkas and Ralof, who were headed into Candlehearth Hall to see who could win over more ladies with their feats of strength and valor. Luthien found herself standing in front of the Palace of the Kings aloone, soft flakes of white snow drifting down from the heavy clouds that seemed to hover just above the highest window of the palace. They fell upon her upturned face like frigid kisses, and for a moment she closed her eyes and let them touch her.

Why was she always returning from some task in the dead of night? Even more confusing was why she didn't just walk away and come back at morning's light. It was as if some part of her wanted to find Ulfric in his rooms, relaxing against the pillows, shirtless and waiting for her to climb into bed with him.

She made her way through the main hall, turning left into the war room and heading up the long stairs that led to Ulfric's bedroom. His door was open when she approached, and he'd heard her footsteps just before she arrived, rising from the table where he'd been reading to walk to the door and meet her.

"We have taken Whiterun hold." She stopped on the top stair just outside the door, feeling so small and vulnerable under his shadow.

"Come, tell me of the battle." Holding out his hand to her, she took it and he drew her into his chamber, closing the door behind her and walking her toward the table. He poured her a drink and then one for himself and sat down in the chair across from her. He listened carefully as she told him how the battle went, asking few questions, but absorbing every word she spoke as if he were trying to imagine himself there, fighting among his men.

When she finished, he leaned back in his chair, fingers curled around his mead as he nodded approval and contemplated a little while longer before finally speaking.

"We've driven the Imperials out of Whiterun. This is good. Very good. We now control the center. It is a very powerful position. One I aim to keep," he admitted. "We have in our possession one of the most powerful holds in the middle of Skyrim, but you seem troubled. What weighs so heavy on your mind?"

Luthien shook her head. "It is nothing."

Reaching out, he lifted her chin so she had no choice but to look into his eyes. "Tell me what troubles you."

"I just… some of the men in Whiterun… the guards, the people, they were my friends, people I'd known for years."

"Your heart is heavy with grief for your fallen brothers, that is understandable, but they made their choices, just as you have made yours." Ulfric withdrew his hand and rose from the chair, walking across the room. "You are a true Nord, a daughter of Skyrim. The thick blood of this land runs through you, has seeped into the fires of your heart. I shall call you Ice-Veins now."

Luthien watched him kneel before the chest resting at the foot of his bed. He unlocked it, took out a sword and walked toward her, holding it out. "Here," he said. "I want you to have this."

Luthien reached out and gripped the hilt, drawing the sword close and inspecting it in the light of the fire. It was dwarven in make, and she could feel the magic in it pulsing against her skin.

"Thank you, my lord." She looked up at him, saw the tight corners of his full mouth move into a gesture of warmth. She looked back down at the blade in her hand.

His hand came down to rest beneath her chin, lifting her gaze back to his again. She could almost see her own reflection in his eyes, or perhaps she was only seeing things in him she wanted to see in him. Strength fueled by sorrow, the will to go on even when it felt like there was nothing left worth fighting for. Ulfric had said the blood of the land ran through her veins. Maybe she just needed to accept that, align herself with the fact that she'd chosen her side, and be content with that.

Vilkas had once told her that the Civil War was a fool's war without purpose, that he needed a reason to draw his blade and neither the Stormcloaks or the Imperials had one strong enough to entice him into battle, but Luthien had more reasons than she could count on both hands. The Imperials had killed her father, her lover… Talos was her god, the warrior's god, and the fact that the Empire was trying to stifle Talos worship _was_ going too far. The Thalmor were an even greater threat, the ones behind the ban, and the Empire was suckling at the teat of the Aldmeri Dominion, who wanted nothing more than to see them all exterminated. Ulfric had said as much, and perhaps he was true. Perhaps the Thalmor would crush her like a bug between their fingers simply because she was the Dragonborn, and she needed to stand up and fight against that kind of oppression.

"This was an Imperial officer's sword, a fitting weapon to use against our enemy, don't you think?" Ulfric drew her from her contemplation.

"Yes," she agreed, tightening her fingers around the hilt. "What is our next move against the Empire?"

Ulfic's deep, melodious laughter warmed her and he dropped his hand from her chin down to rest over her wrist. "The ice in your veins makes you eager to spill more Imperial blood, but tonight I wish to celebrate our victory."

Luthien glanced toward the bed, then lifted her eyes back to his, knowing the manner of celebration he had in mind. That time, instead of protesting and telling him she couldn't, she rose from her chair, lowering the sword he'd given her to the table and reaching up to unbutton the straps of her cuirass. Ulfric's eyes widened, their fire igniting with lust and fever as he watched her undress before him.

"There may be ice in my veins," she said, walking toward him and reaching up to unhook the broach that held his cloak at his neck. She peeled away the heavy feathered cloak, turning to lay it over the back of the chair behind her. "But you were right about the fire in my heart." She stepped up to him, rose onto the tips of her toes and brushed her soft mouth against his. He opened himself to her, sweeping her close into his chest and allowing her fire to consume him.

She let go of her guilt and her apprehension and allowed everything land where it fell. Ulfric had never forced her into his bed; she'd made the choice to go willingly. Fueled by victory and her willingness to take the lead, his passion was stronger that night than it had ever been before. At times, she thought she might break beneath him, and then she would take control again, driving him onto his back and claiming him for herself.

Her vigor and dominance surprised him, but it was a surprise he answered with a few unexpected twists of his own that made her cry out in rapture, her arms circling tight around his neck as she felt his body tighten with release, his heat rushing through her.

He fell back into the bed, drawing her with him and laying her across his chest. The silence they shared then spoke louder than any words either of them could have ever said. She felt safe, as safe as she once had in the arms of her husband, as if nothing in the world could touch her as long as Ulfric had his arms around her. Not even Ulfric himself… But she knew safety was a false illusion. No matter how safe she'd felt with Vilkas, he still hadn't been able to protect her from the pain of his own death.

Still, it was an illusion she allowed herself to sink into for the time being.

Content, she felt herself drifting into sleep and then his soft, deep voice startled her from the cottony edges and drew her awake. What startled her even more was that when he started to speak, it was as if he'd read her thoughts like she'd spoken them aloud.

"It is dangerous out there." He moved his chin across the top of her head, his beard whispering through her hair. "Would that I could hold you here in my arms forever to keep you safe from the world, but I know that not even my arms are strong enough to protect you from the things you must face. Your destiny lies beyond these walls, beyond my war... Why do you not follow it?"

"I don't know if I'm ready." She shuddered under the smooth tips of his fingers tracing down the length of her spine. "I studied with the Greybeards and went to the Mage's College, but even as I learned more, it was like I was always putting it off. Master Arngeir says there is nothing more they can teach me until I am ready to move forward, but I don't even know where I am supposed to go."

He said nothing, only listened, continuing to stroke her skin in the dark.

"There was a woman once in Riverwood, she thought the Thalmor were behind the return of the dragons. She thought we could help each other, but I never went back there."

"Why not?"

"I didn't trust her. Her means of bringing me to her were false. When I asked the Greybeards about her, they didn't seem to know who she was either."

"There are some who say I brought the dragons back," Ulfric chuckled to himself. "That the power of my Thu'um when I challenged Torygg summoned that dragon to Helgen that day to save my skin." She lifted her head to look at him, the edges of his mouth curling into a slow smile. "If only that had been true. Imagine the things I could do with dragons at my beck and call."

Luthien didn't want to imagine the things he could do with such power. She had a feeling he wouldn't stop once he ruled Skyrim, but would go on fighting until he held all of Tamriel in the palm of his hand. "Do you think it could be the Thalmor?"

"Perhaps you should return to Riverwood and find out who this woman is, what she knows," he drew his hand away, fingers disappearing into his hair as he brushed it back from his face. "After the war, of course. You've proven yourself far too valuable to me now for me to let you go."

Luthien lifted her head and looked down at him. His grey eyes were soft. "How am I valuable to you? I did nothing more than the other soldiers in your army."

Ulfric lifted his hand, his broad palm spanning her cheek, long fingers sweeping into the braided hair at her cheek. "You are the only one who warms my bed."

"And who warms your bed when I'm off fighting your war?" She'd told herself she didn't care, that he meant nothing to her, but she could feel the nervous tension in her gut as she waited for his answer.

He leaned upward, his heavy kiss stealing into hers as he whispered across her mouth, "I sleep alone."

Luthien let that kiss overpower her, Ulfric rising into her, maneuvering her back into the bed and falling in above her to quickly show her everything he'd held back in her absence. And when he'd finally finished proving himself to her, she was so exhausted she fell asleep curled up in his arms before she even caught her breath.


	15. Chapter 15

The sound of a knock at the door roused her from sleep, Ulfric's groggy voice calling out for whoever it was to enter. It was a courier, with word from Galmar Stone-Fist. The young man who brought the message didn't even look old enough to grow a beard, his wide eyes scanning over Ulfric with such deep respect, she thought he was going to wet himself when the king handed him a bag of coin and sent him on his way.

Luthien drew the sheets up around her chest when she sat up and leaned into his shoulder after the courier had left.

"What word from Galmar?"

"It is just as I suspected. He says you were an essential asset to him in the battle for Whiterun. He is making his way to our hidden camp in Falkreath, and he could use your talents in the field." He folded the letter and sighed as he placed it on the bedside table. "He says you and that brother of yours are of no value to him in Windhelm, and wants me to send you to meet with him in Falkreath. I tend to agree, but I suspect you will be of greater use to us with greater freedom. You are free to engage the Imperials as you see fit along the way, but make your way to Galmar in Falkreath. He will have special tasks for you to carry out, and will need your assistance as we liberate our lands from Imperial clutches."

"And what exactly will I be doing?"

"Whatever Galmar asks of you, and of course, causing as much mayhem for the Empire and any of the jarls who still support them."

"Understood." She started to draw the blankets aside. "I'll leave at once."

Ulfric reached out to stay her hand. "Are you so eager to return to the battlefield, you're not even going to say goodbye to your king, or have you grown weary of my affections so quickly?" She shivered under the soft flutter of his lips traveling along her neck and down her bare shoulder.

"Is that what this is between us, my lord?" She tilted her head, allowing his kisses to roll across her skin. "Affection?"

"I am very fond of you," he murmured. "Are you not fond of me?"

Luthien lifted her hand up to rest against his scarred cheek, fingers bristling through the hair of his neatly-trimmed beard. "I adore you, Ulfric. You are my king."

"Do you adore me only because I am your king?" There was a hint of sadness in his eyes when he drew back to look at her. "Because I command your affection?"

She closed her eyes, head shaking slowly back and forth. "At first, perhaps I did," she admitted. "But my heart is so confused. I still…"

"Your heart still yearns for a dead man's love." He slid out from behind her and she fell back a little without him there to hold her in place. Righting herself, she sat up, once more drawing the blankets around her naked body, feeling shame and confusion by the quick change in his mood. He was like day and night, that man, kind one moment and cold the next.

He stood bare in the center of the room, his strong arms crossed over his broad chest, scarred back to her as he walked toward the window and stood in front of the tempered glass, staring down at the city below, the tight muscles of his backside flexed. He raised an arm, wide hand resting on the glass, his warm breath stealing out to mist the surface in front of him as he sighed.

It was a cruel thing he'd said, and he didn't even seem to care that his words cut into a wound that had barely begun to heal and made it fresh again.

"Is it him you think about at night, while you're in my bed?" His voice was stiffer, distant when he spoke, as if he'd actually become distracted by goings on below. "Do you imagine you are with another man when I'm inside you?"

"No."

She could feel her face growing warm with that startled confusion that accompanied accusations. She hadn't thought about Vilkas while he she was in bed with Ulfric, at least not in the capacity that he was suggesting. There had been guilt, yes, and remorse after that first time, but the second time it had lessened and she even found herself thinking of him when she'd been away. The night before she had let herself go completely. When she'd woke that morning still in his arms, there was no guilt, only that warm safety she'd felt in the arms of a strong man.

"Good," he pushed away from the window, turning back to look at her. Gods, his eyes were like Skyforge steel, cold and almost silver. "I will not compete with any man, Luthien. Not even a ghost."

Her throat tightened as she swallowed, looking down at her hands folded atop the blankets in her lap. He made his way toward her again, his large hand reaching down to grip her chin, drawing her gaze to his eyes. It was impossible for her to even guess what he was thinking, though it seemed as if he wanted her to say something, but she didn't know what.

After a long silence, he knelt and kissed her forehead, lips lingering on her brow as he exhaled another sigh and then withdrew his hand.

"Talos watch over you, Ice-Veins."

And then he left her. He had dressed in silence, drawing into his feathered cloak and leaving the room without even looking back over his shoulder at her before closing the door behind him.

She didn't know what had just happened, how they could go from affectionately cuddling against the chill of a cold morning to not even speaking at all. She assumed that was his way of dismissing her, and after she dressed, she made her way down the stairs and passed through the war room into the mead hall. Their gazes met as she walked through the hall with her head held high, but Ulfric didn't stop her when she swung Wuuthrad over her back and headed out the doors of the palace into the icy morning.

She hadn't really expected him to, but a part of her wished he would have.

Everything about Ulfric Stormcloak confused and overwhelmed her. She wanted to hate the way his touch felt, to cringe away from him in the darkness and whimper with regret against the pillows afterward, but she didn't. Instead, she took comfort in his strong arms around her and the constant thrum of his heart inside him when she laid her head upon his chest. And damn her to Oblivion, she _had_ started to grow fond of him, a part of her actually yearning for him whenever she was away from him, the warm comfort she found in his kisses, the feel of his facial hair whispering against her skin as he lowered his cheek against hers.

Standing at the edge of the stairs, she glanced back at the palace behind her, a part of her wanting to run back inside and tell him she was sorry if she'd hurt him, she hadn't meant to. She could beg him to forgive her… but no. That was probably what he wanted, and for some reason that only served to irritate her more as she remembered his almost mocking reference to her fragile woman's heart.

She would never beg Ulfric Stormcloak for anything, and if her walking away from him without looking back meant that whatever was going on between them ended right then and there, so be it.

Firm in her resolve, she marched into Candlehearth Hall, pried Farkas from the arms of last night's lover, and dragged him back onto the road with a renewed sense of vigor in her heart. She'd show Ulfric Stormcloak that while he may have been just a grab away from the throne of the high king, just because he could dispel enemies with the power of his voice and dispatch legions of soldiers with little more than a nod, he had no power over her heart. She had a voice too, and she wouldn't stifle it to please any man, even if that man was going to be high king one day.

But as they made their way south, she couldn't stop thinking about him. At first his gaze had felt cruel, but the more she thought on it, the more she realized it was sadness in his eyes when he asked her if she'd thought of another man while he was inside her. The staunch conviction with which he'd informed her that he would never compete with a ghost still haunted her, confusing her heart all the more.

Noticing her detachment, Farkas kept trying to make her laugh, but when every effort failed, he finally shouldered into her to grab her attention and asked, "What's eating you?"

"Nothing," she insisted, staggering back into him and offering a slow grin she didn't even really feel.

"Okay, but you're a liar."

"A liar," she laughed, shoving into him again, but barely moving the massive wall of muscle and bone beside her as he braced himself for her weight. "Says you."

"I might not be the smartest man alive, but I know you, and I know when something's bothering you."

"Who says you're not the smartest man alive? Not me, I'd never say that."

"Only because you love me, but really, Lu. Something's wrong. I can feel it. It doesn't have anything to Ulfric Stormcloak, does it?"

"Ulfric who?" she tried to laugh it off, but knew that no matter how she tried, she'd never been able to pull the wool over Farkas's eyes.

He seemed to know what she was feeling sometimes when even she hadn't come to terms with her own emotions, and as much as she hated it, it felt good knowing she had someone like that in her life. On the other hand, it did make it hard for her to hide things from him. She knew they were going to have the conversation they were having sooner or later. Better sooner than later, when it had already gone too far for her to hide it anymore.

Truth be told, she'd been afraid of how he might react once he found she'd been healing her broken heart with another man just a handful of months after his brother had left them.

"Don't think I didn't notice how fast you disappeared into the palace once we get back to the city, sleeping there in the so-called guest room after late night strategizing… Is there something going on between you and Ulfric I should know about? Are you secretly plotting to do more than just overthrow the Empire together?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know, or you just don't want to talk about it?"

She started to open her mouth, but no words came out, and that was fine because he was already talking again.

"Like I said, I'm not stupid… Sleeping in one of his guest rooms my ass. I just need to know he's not… taking advantage of you, because king or no, I'll kill any man who lays a finger on you without your permission."

"And if I gave him permission?"

His eyes widened a little, as if he hadn't been expecting that answer and for a moment she saw the hurt she'd been expecting flash in his gaze. "Then I guess I have to keep my hands to myself."

"I'm really confused right now, Farkas."

"And with good reason. You lost your husband, Luthien. Vilkas was everything to you, and as much as I hate that he's gone, I know he wouldn't want you to be alone. Not with all the things you have to carry around. You need someone to share those burdens with."

"I don't think he would have wanted me to share myself or my burdens with a man like Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Maybe not," he shrugged. "But if you found it in your heart to share something with him, he must not be all bad."

"I guess not," she shrugged, a part of her feeling a little relieved that she at least had someone to talk to about what was going on. Holding it all inside her had been killing her. "I just don't know if I'm ready to give my heart to someone else, if I'll ever be ready again. Last time, it was like Vilkas and I fought so hard to hold each other at bay all that time. Like the gods were trying to tell us something all along. Beware, beware! This love is doomed. This time, it feels like they're pushing me into Ulfric, and try as I might to resist it, we… fit. I don't even know how to explain it. I don't know if I even trust half of what he says, and yet I find myself melting the minute he opens his mouth and starts speaking."

"You always did have a thing for talkers. I mean, no offense, and may the gods strike me where I stand for even saying this, but sometimes when Ulfric talks, it reminds me of Vilkas. He has something… I don't know."

"Passion?"

"I was thinking ego, but okay. You of all people should remember how much Vilkas liked to brag. I think I've killed just about one of every creature in Skyrim… blah, blah, blah…"

Her elbow found his side again, and he doubled over in mock agony. It was good that they were finding it in their hearts to fondly remember Vilkas, but the wound of Ulfric's cruelty still ached in her heart.

As he straightened himself, tugging at the frayed edges of his uniform, he went on in a more serious tone than he was prone to using.

"Life is too short to spend it alone, Lu, especially in our line of work. Dragons, rogue wizards, war... You carry a heavy weight on your shoulders, and even though I'm pretty sure Vilkas would rather you have spent your days sharing those burdens with him, he's not with us anymore. If you've taken comfort in Ulfric's… whatever… I guess what I'm saying is if he's helped you let go of some of the pain you carry around inside you, then isn't that a good thing?"

They walked a little ways, neither of them saying anything while they mulled over that bit of rare wisdom. Farkas finally broke the silence, nudging into her again and knocking her off balance.

"Just think, maybe someday you'll be High Queen of Skyrim, and you can grant me land and titles and make me so rich I can sit around getting fat in my hall with my wife and concubines, drinking mead and telling stories to all my children of the good old days when dragons flew the skies and good old Auntie Lu the Queen kicked their asses straight to Oblivion."

"Concubines, Farkas?" She snorted laughter. "Really?"

"As if one woman could ever be enough for the mighty Farkas." He held up his arms in triumphant stance. "Of course, there was one woman once who could have tamed the wild beast and made him settle down, but she was always looking elsewhere when he was looking at her. She never even saw him."

"Here we go again…" She rolled her eyes, shouldered into him hard, and that time he let her stagger him, the two of them laughing until the distant roar of dragon fire drew them from their merriment and focused their sights on the sky ahead.


	16. Chapter 16

It was four days march to the hidden Stormcloak camp in the foothills to the east above Helgen, which she could see the ruins of from the top of the mountain the morning they arrived. She thought of Ulfric often, wondering if that wordless farewell had been their last, if he even thought of her at all once she left the palace and headed back out into the world to fight his war for him.

As they'd passed through Riverwood, she found her gaze drawing back to the Sleeping Giant Inn, remembering the conversation they'd shared in the dark, quiet hours after, his strong arms around her, holding the world and its troubles at bay.

She wondered if the woman, Delphine, was still there, or if she'd given up on the Dragonborn. Maybe she'd finally been taken by the Thalmor. That would have been a damn shame. The woman may have been underhanded in her dealings, but she didn't deserve what the Thalmor had to offer her. No one did.

Maybe she should go back there one day, as Ulfric had said, but that day was not the day. Instead, she hiked the foothills until they came upon the hidden camp and moved through soldiers huddled around the fire. Under the current of voices, she heard them all muttering about how they were cold, tired, hungry. They hadn't signed up to sit around and were ready for more fighting, to ride the storm of war to its heights and crash down upon the Empire with screaming vengeance.

Soon, they would get their wishes. She could feel it in her bones.

Galmar greeted her with open arms, mentioning he was glad to finally have someone who didn't bellyache when something needed done. "You'd think I was watching over a legion of milk-drinkers crying for their mothers' teets."

He sent Farkas out to fetch them some mead, and Luthien sat down in the war tent, pulling off her helmet and shaking her hair loose.

"Took you long enough to get here, girl," Galmar jested. "I thought I was going to have fight this gods damned war by myself."

"We got here as quickly as we could," she assured him. "Ulfric told me to take my time, roam free if I needed to and wreak as much havoc against the Imperials as I could along the way. We came upon a dragon on our way that took a bit of time to take care of, but then we came straight to you."

"Sounds like Ulfric knows where your talents lie best," he shrugged. "You have a particular talent for more delicate work, and those talents may eventually come in handy, but the job I have for you this time isn't so glamorous."

"Tell me."

"We need to take Fort Neugrad into our possession. It's a strategic gem," he growled. "Not only is the fort a valuable asset to our campaign to liberate Falkreath, but they're holding a few of our boys hostage. I want you and a small dispatch of soldiers to sneak in under cover of darkness, just around the time the guard changes. They are fools, who put their best soldiers to bed at night, and that's when we'll attack. I need you to get into the prison and free our boys. I imagine they'll be more than ready to strap on their swords and make that fort ours after the hell they've been through in there."

"All right," she nodded. "I'll get it done."

"I knew I could count on you."

She leaned back in her chair and lowered her head along the shoulders of her armor, stretching the muscles of her neck. While Galmar mapped out the grounds of the fort for her, she listened and strategized in her head. She would have to enter the fort from an underground tunnel, sneaking into the prison and setting the soldiers free before the guards even knew what hit them.

"And leave this lummox outside," Galmar nodded to Farkas, taking the mead he'd brought them. "He may be brilliant with a warhammer, but I've got a feeling he's not one for stealth and shadows."

"I can sneak with the best of 'em," Farkas grumbled. "Where are we going?"

"To liberate Fort Neugrad," Luthien explained. "They're holding some of our soldiers captive."

"All right then. When do we leave."

"First take some rest, fill your bellies. I hear rabbit's on the menu again," Galmar's gruff laugh echoed through the tent. "You've been traveling four days, and I'll need you both in perfect form if we're going to pull this off. It's about an hour to the fort from here. Just after sunset, I'll send you down to meet with the men I have camped in the trees outside the fort. Take command of them if you have to, they are at your disposal."

"I won't let you down," Luthien assured him.

"Good. Now off with you. Report back to me when you've taken over the fort."

They found two empty bedrolls behind the war tent and rested their weary bones for a spell before rising and milling about the camp talking to the other soldiers. The encampment was a dismal place, most of the soldiers barely clinging to hope anymore that the war would ever end, much less actually start. None of them had been at the battle for Whiterun, and surveyed Luthien and Farkas with envious gazes when they heard of the glorious fight they'd endured there as they battered Jarl Balgruuf to his knees until he surrendered his palace and his city to the newly appointed Stormcloak affiliated Jarl Vignar Grey-Mane.

"At least you've seen actual battle. I've been on so many small raids, it barely even feels like I'm at war," one man lamented.

"It is those small raids that bring us all glory right now, and they keep the Imperials guessing." Luthien rested a hand on his shoulder. "Soon enough, we'll all know the glories and hardships of greater battles."

"I hope you're right."

It was easy enough to say that sort of thing out loud, but after meeting with the men just above Fort Neugrad and telling them the plan, she had a harder time feeling it as she crept into the icy waters behind the fort alone. Even as she'd struggled through the battle at Whiterun, with her morals and her values, at least there she had been fueled by the fire of battle… and she'd been warm.

Finding the underground entrance that led to the prison hadn't been easy, but as she dropped down into the tunnel she was proud she'd done it the way Galmar suggested. She snuck through the tunnels and came up into the stockroom, surveying the situation before taking action. There was only one guard watching over the prisoners, and as he lifted his hand to cover a yawn, she knew this job was going to be easier than she'd imagined.

She quietly drew the dwarven blade Ulfric had given her when she returned from Whiterun and snuck in behind him. One of the prisoners spotted her and started to rise with intrigue, but she lifted a finger to her lips in a gesture of silence and he sat back down to wait. The guard didn't even know what hit him. Her forearm strapped across his forehead, she drew back his head and slit his throat, listening to the sound of his gurgling, gasping breath as struggled against death. The warmth of his blood flooded over her arm, seeping in through her gauntlets until metal and leather stuck to her skin.

She let him drop to the floor with a heavy thud, then bent to swipe the keys from his belt. The soldiers clung to their bars, eagerly waiting for her to set them free so they could take up their swords and give payback to the men who'd taken them captive.

"What's going on?"

"The Stone-Fist sent us. There are a handful of men outside waiting for my signal. We're taking the fort for Ulfric."

"I thought we were going to die in here," one man said as she opened his door.

"The only people dying tonight are the Imperial dogs upstairs," she assured him, seeing the fire of excitement flare to life in his eyes. "Take whatever weapons you can find along the way and let's show those bastards what true Nords are made of."

She couldn't stop the sound of their cheers from rising up the stairs before they did, but only a few of the soldiers in the main hall were alerted to their coming and they caught them off guard, hacking their way through like a pack of hungry wolves that needed to feed.

Luthien unleashed a battle-cry to let the men outside know they were attacking, and soon the fort rang with the sounds of clanging steel and cries of furious protest and triumph. The Imperials at Fort Neugrad never even knew what hit them; half the soldiers died without honor in their beds, their faces twisted in protest and surprise as blades twisted into their hearts and bellies, their blood painting the walls red.

She caught a glimpse of Farkas over her shoulder, roaring furiously through three attacking Imperial soldiers, who he wiped out with one mighty, leftward arc of his warhammer. They staggered backward, stumbling and falling into each other, and Luthien rushed in to take out the one closest to her, as Farkas drew his hammer back and brought it down so hard it shattered the soldier's face into an unrecognizable cavern of bloodied bone and grey matter. She felt blood spatter against her armor and exposed skin, but ignored it as they moved onto the next foe that awaited them.

They tripped over bodies on their way to the last room, some of them Stormcloaks, but most of them donning red and gold Imperial armor smeared in blood. The stench of death was almost overpowering, but she swallowed her urge to wretch and battered open the locked door with Wuuthrad to make her way inside. The captain was scribbling furiously at his desk, as if in his final moments he needed to get his thoughts out and not even death standing at his back would deter him.

"We're taking your fort," she announced, lifting her axe. When she brought it down, it sunk deep into his shoulder, spraying blood across the table and his last, desperate missive. She wrenched it free with a growl, almost losing her balance when it came free, but a swift hand moved in behind her to catch her from falling.

"I've got your back," Ralof said.

She spun around at the sound of his voice, lowering her axe. "Ralof, I thought you were still in Windhelm."

"Nice of you two to wait for me," he chuckled. "Ulfric sent me back into the field as soon as I went to see him. Apparently I arrived just after you two left the camp. The general wanted me to come down and make sure you didn't need my help. It seems I got here just in the nick of time to save your asses."

She laughed, lowering Wuuthrad over her shoulder and securing it against her back. "I think we could have done all right without you, but I'm glad you're here."

"Galmar wants me to stick around here a bit, tidy up the mess you heathens made."

"Do you need any help?"

"Of course I'll need help. This place is a mess." There was an edge to his tone she didn't like. "But I'm not going to get it from you. Galmar says you're to report back to Ulfric as soon as the fort's been secured, let him know we now hold Falkreath."

"I'll head out at once."

"You know the funny thing," Ralof was saying as she made her way past him through the door. "I don't think Galmar even knows my name. Four years I've served under him, carried out his orders and done his bidding, and he still calls me _you boy_." She glanced back over her shoulder at him, caught a hint of bitterness in his gaze.

"He just calls me girl." She shrugged.

"Not when he talks about you, but I guess I'm not important enough to remember. I'm just another disposable body, but not you." He sighed, such confusion in his tone as he added, "You're the Dragonborn."

"You think being the Dragonborn makes me a better soldier than you in Galmar's eyes?" She stopped in front of Farkas, turning her narrowed gaze back over her shoulder to look at him. "Perhaps you should spend more time bloodying your sword and proving yourself than complaining."

Pushing past Farkas, she made her way out of the fort, stopping to celebrate with her fellow soldiers as she passed through. "Bone-Breaker!" a soldier she'd set free from the prisons called out as he ran up to offer her a flagon of mead to quench her thirst. "Smashing the backbone of the Imperial army with her mighty war axe!"

"If it hadn't been for you, we'd all probably be dead by now," said a second soldier she'd uncaged from the prison.

"When I saw her slit that Imperial's throat, my hope was renewed." Another said, clapping her on the back. "And I swear, when she drew that axe from her back and knocked back the guards with such fury, it inspired me to fight."

"Bone-Breaker!" They gathered around her, lifting the spirit Ralof had tried to break, but over her shoulder she caught a glimpse of him holding his helmet in his hands, that same sad look haunting his gaze.


	17. Chapter 17

Ralof's jealous sorrows didn't linger with her long. There were more dragons on the road, two of them to be exact, which lengthened their journey back to Windhelm by more than a day. She was grateful for the distraction, a part of her remembering that she did have greater purpose beyond the war, and hoping things started moving more quickly so she could get back to that purpose before it was too late.

It seemed the dragon attacks were only growing more frequent and powerful, a day hardly passing without the shadow of broad wings spanning across the sky.

Or maybe she'd gone looking for those dragons in the sky, a part of her realizing that she was dragging out their return so she didn't have to face Ulfric. She didn't know why, but she was worried he wouldn't be happy to see her, even though she brought him good news. But she was afraid. Afraid that when she stood at his door, he wouldn't even invite her inside, ask her to fall into his arms and keep him warm against the night's chill.

From the city gates her gaze immediately fell on the light in the tower of the Palace of the Kings, every muscle in her stomach as tight as a fist as soft flakes of falling snow fluttered across her face.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow." Farkas elbowed her in the shoulder. "But don't come calling too early. I won't be sleeping alone, if you catch my drift."

"Loud and clear," she nodded, following him as he started ahead toward the inn.

She waited until he disappeared through the front doors, then gathered her courage and made her way toward the palace. Stopping at the gates, she lifted her gaze to the tower and saw the orange glow of the fire in Ulfric's rooms. Why was it always night in Windhelm, always snowing? Soft, heavy flakes drifted past her face, landed on her lashes and melted down her cheeks like tears when she blinked. Drawing in a deep breath, she picked up her feet and marched toward the doors, ready to face whatever awaited her within the Palace of the Kings.

"You know, I've been thinking," the guard at the doors said as she approached. "Maybe I'm the Dragonborn, and I just don't know it yet."

She laughed, passing through the doors and calling back over her shoulder, "You never know, but even if you're not, I imagine your arrows would do just as well against one of them should you cross a dragon's path."

Beneath his helmet, he laughed as he was closing the door behind her. "You think?"

The hall was quiet, Jorleif sitting at the end of the table near the empty throne enjoying a flagon of mead as he leafed through a book in front of him. "I'm looking for Ulfric," she told him, as if she didn't know where to find him.

"He's waiting for you in his quarters." Jorleif didn't even look up from his book.

She looked toward the war room apprehensively, considering whether or not she should ask Jorleif what kind of mood the jarl was in, but then thought better of it. Swallowing her fear, she made the long walk up the stairs until she stood outside his closed door, hands wringing at her waist.

He opened the door before she could lift her hand to knock, startling her.

"The courier came from Fort Neugrad two days ago. I've been waiting for you," he said, stepping aside. Was that relief from worry she'd seen flash in his eyes? "Come in."

She stepped up the last stair and Ulfric closed the door behind her, immediately reaching for her and drawing her against his chest. His mouth found hers, the rough hairs of his beard bristling across her skin as he devoured her kiss, gripping her so tight in his hands she could feel her skin bruise beneath his fingertips. Her gasp of surprise only served to pull him in deeper and her emotions went into overdrive, confusion mingling with doubt and fear and want, so much want that she couldn't hold it in anymore.

He was already undressing her, peeling away the layers of her armor, still kissing her with such hunger it made her ache as he walked her backwards to the bed and threw her down in front of him. He took her without words, but none were needed. Ulfric was a man who spoke with actions, those actions spoke louder than words ever could, the passion inside him so strong she thought it would consume them both where they writhed.

And she would have let it.

She'd never expected to know that powerful emotion again, but she could feel it swelling inside her and she wasn't going to fight it. She'd fought it the first time, with Vilkas, denying it was there until it was almost too late. With Ulfric, she would let it grow and flourish and cherish it as long as it lasted because she had taken it for granted once, had let it slip through her fingers and she would never let that happen again.

Farkas was right; life was too short, and even though she'd lost love once, she was one of the lucky few to find it again. She wasn't going to let it go so easily this time. She would hold his heart tight in her fist if she had to.

"Ulfric," she whispered his name in the dark, fingertip tracing through the sparse hair across his broad chest.

"Hmm?"

"I do care for you," she said. "And I'm sorry if I hurt you before."

"It was I who was cruel," he murmured, his chin resting atop her head as he lifted his arm across her back to draw her closer. "I said things I never should have said because I learned long ago that striking first was one way to guarantee I didn't get hurt."

She started to lift her head to look down at him, his eyes soft in the light of the fire when she met his gaze. "I don't want to hurt you, but I don't want to lie to you either."

"Still…" He lifted his hand against her cheek, the backs of his fingers stroking downward until he reached her chin. "I never should have said those things about your husband. They were cruel."

"He will always live in my heart, and my love for him will never die," she said, a small flicker of fear in her at speaking so boldly, but she knew she had to. If she wanted to keep Ulfric, she would have to be strong with him, show him she was not afraid of him or anything else. "But my heart is a very big place, Ulfric, and you are in it."

He was quiet for a time after she said those words, as if he mulling them over in his mind. The tips of his fingers danced along her back, stroking gently up and down.

"I was an only child, my father's only son," he said thoughtfully. "I never wanted for anything, my mother and father saw to that, and I never had to share. Even now, Galmar sometimes teases me because I never learned the meaning of the word no… He is the only one who has ever dared to tell me to my face I was spoiled. Had you come to me straight from Helgen, you would have been mine first, and I would have had you to myself. Perhaps that is cruel as well, but that thought unnerves me."

"Or perhaps had I come to you then, you would not have wanted me at all," she suggested, not ever wanting to imagine a life in which Vilkas hadn't been a part of her. "I was so much younger then, so green and naïve. The only thing I knew of swords was that the pointed end was for killing." That made him laugh, a sound she realized she hadn't heard before. "I hadn't even learned I was Dragonborn."

"You said when you were last here you didn't understand your path," he began, "and like a selfish boy, I sought to hold you here with me because you have proven yourself a valuable asset to my war."

"Is that the only reason you hold me here with you?"

"Not entirely. I spoke true when I told you I have a great fondness for you, and I meant what I said about protecting you from the dangers of the world. I would hold you in a ball of glass if I thought it would keep you safe, but then what kind of king would I be to hold back the only force in our land powerful enough to bring dragons to their knees?"

"A king who followed his heart…"

"You speak with your woman's heart, and it is a language that is new to my ears." He drew her head back to his chest. "I have had women, more than my share of them, but I have been a soldier as long as I can remember and war has been my only mistress." She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart inside him. "But I am not a young man anymore, Luthien. I have seen forty-two years, more of them filled with fighting and war than I care to recall, and war may keep a man's land and home, but she is a cruel mistress and her arms are cold."

"I will keep you warm," she murmured, her soft lips moving across his skin.

"I have no family but the men who carry my banners, no sons to carry on my name. Even if I wrench Skyrim from the hands of the Empire, I cannot hold onto it alone. A kingdom needs a queen, both fair and strong, who speaks with a woman's heart and makes her king listen." His long fingers stroked through her hair, chin gently moving across the top of her head. "Speak to my heart, Luthien. I am listening."

"Do you really want to win this war, Ulfric?"

"That seems a rather tedious question."

"Perhaps," she agreed, "but the men out in your camps, the men you call your only family, they are tired and little by little, they lose hope. With their hope gone, they lose their vigor, their lust for battle and their belief in you begins to wane. Many of those men have been out in the field for years, away from their homes, their family, brother fighting brother for a cause they don't even understand anymore."

"Then they have lost their way…" he started to protest, but Luthien propped herself up beside him and put a fingertip over his lips to quiet him. He was so stunned by the gesture, he actually grew silent, his eyes cold, but curious as he stared up at her in the fire lit room.

"Help them find it again, Ulfric. They call themselves Stormcloaks because they love you. Make a few appearances in the camps, talk to your men, show them you truly care about them and not just because they fight your war for you, but because they are your brothers and sisters and you are their true king. Show them you care about Skyrim and its people, and that you're not only in this for the power of a crown and they will follow you wherever you lead them."

He sat up, shouldering past her as he drew the heavy blankets from his naked body and stood. He walked toward the fire behind the bed and stood in front of it, holding his hands out to feel its warmth. He stroked his beard, fingers lingering at the edges. Luthien watched him, contemplating, playing her words over and over in his mind. The shadows played across his broad, scarred back, the fire's light casting him across the room like a giant.

"I've heard your love for this land in your voice every time you speak of her, but the people have doubts about that love. They say you only care for power and the crown, that when all is said and done they will all be crushed beneath the weight of this fool's war. But you do care about Skyrim, Ulfric. I know you do."

"Of course I care about Skyrim. Her blood runs through my veins," he raised his voice, crossing his arms over his chest, fingers rubbing the taut muscles as if he was cold. "This land was my first true love…"

"Then show her you still love her, Ulfric."

Turning to look back at her over his shoulder, she saw something in him then. Admiration, respect, she wasn't sure, but he was smiling as he started back toward the bed. "You speak to me like a true queen and daughter of Skyrim." He reached out and touched her face, his eyes like molten steel boring into her soul. "I would be a fool not to listen to your council, and an even greater fool not take you as my wife." Ulfric walked around and knelt beside the bed taking her hand in his and lowering his head almost submissively. "We could do such things together, you and me. Shatter the Empire, restore our homeland to its former glory, bring dragons screaming to their knees. Stand beside me as my queen, Luthien."

She lifted her hand to rest over his on her cheek, nuzzling her face into his deep palm and closing her eyes. Even when Farkas had joked about it, she had never actually entertained the thought that her affair with Ulfric could lead her to a throne. She tried not to let it all go to her head, but it was a dizzying notion as she realized that marrying Ulfric Stormcloak would make her one of the most powerful women in Skyrim. She was sure he'd thought the same thing, that wedding the Dragonborn was a powerful strategy for a potential king to gain an even tighter grip on the land.

But if they could remove both the Empire and the dragons from Skyrim together… it _would_ be a beautiful thing. They would know peace again as they returned to their roots and traditions, restoring Skyrim to its original glory.

She would have to continue to speak to him with her woman's heart, and hope he listened, growing to love her as she came to love him in time. Otherwise, all of Skyrim would suffer as Markharth had suffered when Ulfric rooted out the Forsworn and she would have no one to blame but herself.

"I will."


	18. Chapter 18

Ulfric did not want to wait until after the war to marry, but he also knew that announcing their plans would do little more than make her an even brighter target for the Thalmor and the Empire to set their sights on—an easy avenue to Ulfric himself. They would marry in secret, and loathe as he was to send her back out into the field and away to fight his war, they would continue on as they were until the last battle was fought.

She didn't like keeping secrets from Farkas, but her king forbid her from telling her shield-brother where they were headed, sending him ahead to the Stormcloak camp in The Reach alone. She hated letting him go off into the field without her, a part of her feeling like she was betraying Vilkas's last wish when Farkas tilted his head to make sure she really wanted him to go on without her for the time being. It was as if he looked back at her with his brother's sad eyes, but he relented without a fight.

After they embraced, she watched him depart from Windhelm, tears burning in her eyes, but they didn't fall until Ulfric stepped up behind her and laid a hand to rest on her shoulder. "He will be fine. Your brother is a good, strong warrior. Talos will watch over him."

Swallowing, Luthien didn't draw her blurred gaze from the closed gates, but nodded and said, "I know."

They rode for Riften just after sunset, the two of them traveling alone under cover of darkness to avoid drawing attention themselves. Ulfric wore a hooded cowl and spoke to no one they encountered on the way, for fear he would be recognized, but when they arrived in Riften in the dead of night two days later, he had no choice but to reveal himself to Maramal in the temple.

Rousing the man from sleep, he looked between the two of them with wary eyes as he pushed up from the comfort of his bed and began asking questions. "What is the meaning of this? Have you no respect?"

"We wish to be wed right away." Ulfric drew away his hood, shaking free loose the ginger locks of his hair, his strong gaze lowering over the priest, who recognized him at once.

"Jarl Ulfric, I apologize. I didn't recognize you. Under the circumstances, I would think you would rather wed your lady in a much grander ceremony, at your palace perhaps? I can begin making arrangements…"

"As much as it displeases me that I cannot give her a wedding fit for a queen, there is no time for grander ceremonies, and we require discretion on this matter. I am willing to make a very generous donation to your temple if you perform the ceremony quickly and quietly."

"How generous?"

"Very generous." Ulfric lifted a heavy bag of gold Septims, the priests eyes widening with intrigue.

"I'll begin the preparations at once."

"Good," he nodded. "And if you manage to keep your lips together until the war is over, when I am High King, my queen and I will make yearly donations to Mara that will guarantee those in her service never want for anything."

Maramal nodded understanding and led them out into the temple. He locked the doors and motioned for them to join him before the altar. Ulfric took his position at her right, reaching over to grab her hand in his as the priest began to speak. She hadn't ever expected to stand in the Temple of Mara again, at least not for the reason she was there.

Glancing down at their hands together, she felt a strange chill move through her, her heart racing as the weight of the choice she was about to make began to sink in and Maramal began to speak.

"It was Mara who first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children. It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learned that life lived alone is no life at all."

She remembered those words as if he'd spoken them to her only yesterday, Vilkas standing at her side, eagerly rocking on his heels, grinning at her as if he couldn't wait for the priest to finish speaking so their life together, the real adventure, could truly begin.

She glanced sidelong at Ulfric, his focus was so strong it was as if the words Maramal spoke were the most important words he'd ever heard, but when he felt her gaze he tightened his grip on her fingers and met her eyes. She remembered that Vilkas had been trembling during the ceremony, with excitement so strong he could barely contain himself. Ulfric's hands were steady, his palm and fingers dry as he prepared to take a lifelong vow with the same bold conviction he seemed to tackle everything else in his path.

"We gather here today under Mara's loving gaze to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and in the next, in prosperity and poverty and in joy and hardship. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, do you agree to be bound in love, now and forever?"

Ulfric turned to her, the steel of his eyes cutting straight through her heart, making her forget her sorrow and regret that her family wasn't there with her. Ulfric was her family now. He may not have even said the words yet, but there was love in him; she could feel it. Over time it would grow, and they would come to know more than the physical bonds that held a man and a woman together. He would love her as fiercely as he loved his land and his people; he would love her with all of his heart and soul. She would make sure of it.

"I do." His eyes didn't falter from hers when he spoke the words. "Now and forever."

"And do you, Luthien of Winterhold agree to be bound in love, now and forever?"

Luthien swallowed hard, her head nodding as she repeated the vows. "I do. Now and forever."

"Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare you to be wed. I present the two of you with these matching rings blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together."

Neither of them heard the last part of his speech. Ulfric drew her into his arms and kissed her so fiercely it made her knees shake.

As Maramal hoisted the heavy sack of gold from the table, he guaranteed them that their secret would remain safe in Mara's temple until they were ready to share it with the world. Luthien didn't know how long that would be. Months, years before the war was over, but she didn't care. They were married in Mara's eyes, and for some reason that was all that seemed to matter.

As they moved among the quiet, dirty streets of Riften, Ulfric hid once more beneath his cowl until they were well beyond the gates and watching the cold sun rise over the mountains in the east.

They'd barely spoken since leaving the city, but from time to time their eyes met on the road and he was smiling, a rare sight she hadn't often seen since she'd come to know him. It warmed her heart, and made her body long for his, but they had a long road ahead before they reached their marriage bed.

"I do regret that I could not give you a grand ceremony befitting a true High Queen." He reached across the space between them and stroked her cheek. "I would have liked to have seen you come to me at the altar dressed in blue silk, with golden flowers in your hair that brought out the light in your eyes."

"Ulfric," she sighed his name, her heart swelling at that unexpected romantic display.

"It would have been a story for the ages…" he lamented.

"They will tell this story too, of our secret love—how we had to hide it from the Empire for fear that they would wrench us from each other's arms."

That made him grin, his soft fingertips slipping down her cheek until he drew them back to his side.

"I have thought much about what you said," he told her. "About the men in the fields needing to remember what we fight for."

"And?"

"And you were right," he admitted. "I'd like to make our way south, to the camp in the Reach."

"Your soldiers could use a little inspiration."

"Then I will bring it to them."

"Even though it may not be safe?"

"We are at war. Nowhere is safe. The Imperials could send their troops into Windhelm at a whim, and though my guard and I would stand strong against them, there is still a chance they could destroy everything I've fought so hard to hold onto."

"This is true."

"I have not ventured out into the field since I was captured and taken to Helgen for execution."

"I will protect you, my lord," she grinned over at him, catching the playful gleam in his eyes before she looked back to the road.

For a while they continued on in silence, Luthien dwelling on her thoughts of that day. She'd sat beside him in the cart, confused and weary, her heart heavy with so much grief. He hadn't spoken at all, couldn't speak with the gag across his mouth, and she could clearly remember the defeat she saw in his eyes when he'd turned his gaze on her. She'd wondered at the time if he was frightened, or if he had regrets.

Even if he had been frightened, a man as proud as Ulfric Stormcloak would never admit such a thing, not even to his blushing new bride in the dark quiet of their marriage bed. He would have gone to the chopping block behind her if the dragon hadn't come and knelt to die for his land and his people without a word because men like him knew the power of silence and the impact such a statement would have made for years to come as bards told his story. The Empire would have made a martyr of him, igniting a fury among the true sons and daughters of Skyrim unlike any they'd ever seen. Would he have sacrificed himself that day for his cause? She hated to think on it, but she had a feeling he would have.

They traveled almost two days, stopping only to take rest and share food. When she saw Whiterun rising in the distance, she longed for the comfort of home and wondered if Lydia had returned form the job she'd sent her on just before the Stormcloaks took the city. She was tired and sore from travel, and would have given anything to sleep in her own bed.

"I have a place in Whiterun," she gestured ahead with a nod. "It's no palace, but it's warm and dry and my housecarl, Lydia, keeps the house stocked with food even when I'm away. She is sworn to carry my secrets, so there is no worry she would betray us. She will welcome us, and we can sleep without fear of bandits sneaking in to attack us while we rest."

He seemed wary of the idea of walking into Whiterun even though he held it under his thumb, but in the end, relented, drawing his cowl back up over his head as they made their way into the city now patrolled by Stormcloak soldiers. No one paid them any mind, and they were able to slip into Breezehome without notice.

Much to her surprise, the hearth was cold and there was no evidence that Lydia had returned home yet from the errand she'd sent her on. She quickly set about starting a fire to take the chill off the air while Ulfric walked around the house taking it all in.

He'd grown up privileged; she knew that, but it was the first home she had ever called her own after leaving her father's house and she was proud of it. She watched him pause near the shelf in front of the alchemy lab as she knelt to throw another log onto the fire. He lifted a hand to touch the armor there, Vilkas's armor, and she felt a chill move through her. Did it disturb him that she'd once shared that house with another man?

"I don't know where Lydia is," she admitted, distracting him from the armor.

"This armor," he glanced back over his shoulder at her, not so easily distracted as she'd hoped. "Skyforge steel?"

"Yes."

"It is like the armor you first wore when you came to Windhelm. The wolf… is it the armor of the Companions?"

"Aye. It belonged to Vilkas."

"Your first husband," he nodded. "It is good, strong armor." But that was all he said as he withdrew and walked over to sit in the chair beside the fire while she cooked for them.

It felt strange being in that place with him, and that made her sad. It hadn't felt like home anymore when she'd left for Windhelm what felt like years ago, but with Lydia absent and Vilkas's memory still lingering in the shadows, it felt even colder than she remembered. When she went upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes for sleeping, Ulfric followed, lingering in the doorway of the room she'd once shared with Vilkas and watching her undress.

He stepped into the room and closed the door, quickly drawing her into his arms and tearing her thoughts from the past, making love to her for the first time as not just her king, but her husband.

As she slept in his arms that night, she dreamed she was sitting on a hillside, the cool wind of spring whispering through her hair. She wore a crown of dragon's tongue flowers, their sweet fragrance whirling in the air around her as she leaned back to feel the light of the sun upon her face. She laid back, allowing the earth to embrace her, closing her eyes as the sun's warmth stirred the laziness within her. Soft tongues began to lap at her face and she laughed as the warmth of their fur nuzzled against her cheeks when they nudged her to rise.

She opened her eyes, two strong bear cubs with eyes the blue of steel staring back at her expectantly. The larger of the two barreled into her playfully, urging her to rise and run with them through the flowered fields, and she did, her bare feet padding across the stone and dirt as she chased the cubs, both of them giggling like children when she scooped them into her strong arms and whirled them around.

A heavy shadow fell quick, blocking out the light of the sun as thick, black wings spread wide above her, the dragon's roar so strong the earth trembled beneath her feet. She staggered back, clutching her cubs tight in her arms as she opened her mouth and shouted back at the beast. The cubs shouted too, but the dragon opened its mouth, fire streaming from the sky to burn them where they stood. She summoned the power of her magic like a shield to protect them, the flames burning the ground around them, their heat .

The dragon landed, rearing its head from side to side before lowering its slavering maw until it was eye to eye with her.

"Dovahkiin," its deep voice thundered through her.

And then it threw back its head, dark laughter following her even as she shot upright in the dark, gasping for breath as Ulfric rolled onto his side behind her, muttering nonsense into his pillow.


	19. Chapter 19

She did not speak of her dream to Ulfric, his mind was elsewhere as they traveled, but it haunted her for days, clinging to her every waking moment like a drunk clinging to an empty wine bottle in the dark alley behind a tavern. As they made their way up the mountainside in search of the encampment, she thought of Kodlak for the first time in so long she almost felt ashamed.

Not that she thought her dream was prophetic, as his dream of her had been, but much like Kodlak, dreams did not often trouble her sleep. When they did, she couldn't stop thinking of them and a part of her almost wished she could write them down and reflect on them in greater depth until she understood their meaning.

Surely they meant something, or perhaps Vaermina was toying with her from Quagmire, attempting to draw her into the madness of her realm. The harder she tried to shrug the dream away, the more persistent it became, until it was all she could think of.

The ringing clang of hammer on steel echoed down the mountainside, growing louder as their horses made the climb. The closer they came, the more excited she felt about seeing Farkas again. It had only been a week since they'd parted, but it somehow felt much longer. She had thought of him often, spoken of him so much that Ulfric finally commented with a deep laugh that he too felt as if this man he barely knew was his own brother.

He'd taken off his cowl when they reached the mountains, glad for the feel of the cold air on his face and in his hair. Luthien watched him ride, her heart swelling with pride she would soon have to keep tucked within when they reached the encampment and she fell in among the men, not his wife, but just another Stormcloak soldier.

She dismounted when they reached the horse yard, tethering their horses as Ulfric walked ahead, surveying the camp and heading toward Galmar's tent. She heard their whispers as she tugged the leathered knot tight, his name murmuring through the soldiers as they lifted from where they rested to watch and honor the man they fought for make their way through the camp.

"What in Talos's name are you doing here?" Galmar barked. "Are you out to get yourself killed?"

"I'm out to walk among my men and see to their needs, but first, share a drink with me, Galmar, old friend. My throat is dry from the road and I want to know where we stand in our campaign to liberate the Reach."

"Of course, come in, come in."

Ulfric turned over his shoulder to look at her before he disappeared behind the flap of the war tent, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slow grin of acknowledgement before he turned away.

"I thought you were gonna leave me out here to do all the fighting myself." She'd never been happier to hear the gruff sound of Farkas's voice, and she turned into him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing so tight, she actually thought she'd hurt him for a second. "How did you get him to come up here?" he asked, leading her away from the other men. "Word is spreading like fire through the camp that the high king made his way out into the field. I wouldn't have believed it myself, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

"I appealed to his love for the land," she shrugged, tugging out of her gloves and stretching her fingers as she wiggled them. "The men need him. They need to know he is still with them."

Farkas nodded, stepping back to look her over. "I know it's only been like a handful of days, but boy, I feel like I haven't seen you in months."

"It was a long journey. Have you seen any fighting?"

"Not since I got here early in the week. It's mostly been waiting and brooding about when the next battle comes. We did have a dragon attack night before last though. That kept everyone busy for a bit. Nice break from the same old same old."

"You get the bones?"

"I told Galmar they'd fetch us a bit of coin, and he sent two of us into Markharth to trade them."

"Where's the body?"

He nodded over his shoulder. "What's left of it is back there."

"Show me."

He led her through the milling crowd of soldiers lingering outside Galmar's tent waiting for a glimpse of their high king. Farkas said it had taken fifteen men to drag the body away from camp. She could feel the power of its soul calling out to her, growing louder as they drew nearer the remains until the swirling layers swarmed out to meet her like an old friend.

Its essence whirled and danced around, her seeping through her pores until she was one with the dragon, or it was one with her. She still didn't quite understand how that worked, but the display had drawn the crowds away from the war tent, Ulfric and Galmar stepping into the open as well to watch her take the dragon's soul inside herself as someone called out, "She really is the Dragonborn."

"Show off," Farkas laughed.

"It had to be done."

Before he could offer another retort, Galmar's gravelly shout bellowed over the soldiers. "Dragonborn. I have an important job for you and that lazy brother of yours."

"Had to go showing off," Farkas muttered as they stalked toward the tent. "Now he's gonna expect us to do something."

She ducked through the tent first, Farkas at her back and tried to avoid Ulfric's gaze for fear of giving anything away. "Close that flap," Galmar barked.

Farkas pulled the tent flap closed and turned in to face them.

Ulfric rose from his seat and set his empty tankard on the table. "Galmar's gotten wind of some very interesting news."

"It would seem the esteemed Jarl of Markharth's uncle and steward is a faithful Talos worshipper, despite their little bond with the Empire and the Thalmor."

"That is interesting," Luthien agreed.

"So what does that mean for us?" Farkas asked.

"It means that if properly used to our advantage, it could give us some much needed leverage," Galmar glared over at him.

"Oh."

"With The Reach in our power, we can stop the raping of her silver mines and keep that wealth here in Skyrim where it belongs," Ulfric added.

Before Farkas could interject with another question that garnered Galmar's icy stare, she spoke up. "What do you need us to do?"

"I need you to get into Markharth and see if you can find some… er… evidence of his faithfulness to Talos, and when you do confront him with it. See if you can persuade him to aid in our cause. It would be awful for him if word got out, if you catch my drift."

"I do."

"Got it."

"And you," Ulfric turned his attention to Farkas. "Watch over my queen and bring her safely back to me."

Her brow furrowed, lips twitching in protest, but then Ulfric responded with a smile of concession that let her know she was free to trust Farkas with their secret. It figured that Farkas hadn't even noticed, and for a second she thought about clubbing him over the back of his head with her shield.

"I always do."

Ulfric responded with nothing more than a slow nod of appreciation before turning his gaze back to Luthien. "Show Skyrim you still love her, Ulfric."

He bent to kiss her forehead, his strong fingers curling at the back of her neck as he murmured, "Talos be with you always, heart of my heart," before stepping back to let them go.

She waited until they were nearly a mile away from the camp before she said anything, reaching out to punch Farkas in the shoulder to make sure she had his undivided attention.

"Hey, what the hell was that for?"

"You didn't even say anything."

"About what?"

"About what Ulfric said to you."

"What? I told him I would watch your back, just like I always do. What else was I supposed to say?"

"Oh, I don't know… maybe, I'll protect your _queen_ with my life, my lord?"

"What, and let on like I know some big secret? That's the kind of thing that gets men killed out here," he grinned over at her. "I know nothing."

"You rotten skeever!"

His chiding grin faded and he grew serious for a moment. "Are you happy?"

"Yes," she nodded, falling into his shoulder as they walked. "It's all very scary and new and different, but I care for him."

"Does he care for you?"

"He does."

"That's all that's ever mattered to me, that you were cared for as you deserved to be. And I think you're right to keep that kind of thing under lock and key with this war going on. If anyone found out…"

"We're not telling anyone. Until now, I wasn't even allowed to tell you, but I talked about you so much on the way here, Ulfric said he felt like you were his own brother."

"So when can I talk to him about my land and titles and concubines?"

"You have to take a wife before you can have concubines." Luthien laughed, a girlish giddiness rolling through her that seemed to hold the darkness of her dream away for the time being. It was the first time she hadn't thought about it in days, and she was glad for the respite from its foreboding. "But I'll put in a good word for you."

"Maybe I'll marry Lydia," he said thoughtfully. "I've never knew a woman who could drink me under the table until I met her. That's the kind of woman you wanna have children with."

"Speaking of Lydia, she wasn't in Whiterun when we stopped there for the night on our way from Riften. It's been almost a month since we took the city from Balgruuf. I thought she would have come back by now."

"Where'd you send her?"

"To deliver some Dwemer cogs to Arniel Gane up at the College of Winterhold. He's working on some weird project and I've been collecting them on my travels since last year. I just hadn't gotten around to taking them back to him yet, so I figured I'd send her, get her out of the city during the attacks."

"That is odd she hasn't returned yet," he pondered. "It doesn't take that long to get to Winterhold and back. I hope nothing's happened to her."

"Me too."


	20. Chapter 20

Luthien had never liked Markharth. People said Riften was corrupt, but Markharth was a far worse place in her mind. It was a walled prison that stunk of smolder and metal and ash and the guards all seemed like they were hiding something. The fact that the Thalmor had planted themselves firmly within the city's hold didn't make it feel any homier to her as they made their way to the keep and walked through the front doors.

"Hey," a man called out as they walked by. "Are you here to lick the Imperial's boots?"

She had to be careful what she said, not wanting to alert anyone to their presence as Stormcloaks in the city. They'd changed out of their cuirasses before leaving the encampment to avoid raising suspicions, but one never knew who might be a lookout or spy for the Empire.

"I don't lick anyone's boots."

"Finally, someone with a little sense."

"Farkas, I'll be right back," she told him.

He picked up the thread of conversation with the stranger, and she slunk into the shadows, stealing up the hallway and slipping off right into the court's quarters to search for Raerek's room. Galmar had shown them a map of the keep, so she had a pretty good idea of where she was going, but there was an unmoving guard lingering right where she needed to be and he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving his post any time soon.

It felt like hours passed while she hid there in the shadows like a ghost. Why hadn't she ever learned any shouts or spells that made her perfectly invisible? She thought she would still be standing there when the guard changed and Raerek himself went to bed, but there was a shuffling sound out in the hall that distracted him from his post and she slid in quickly, jiggling her lockpicks in the door until the nob turned easily in her hand.

She slid into the room and looked around, finding no evidence of Talos worship out in the open where it would be easy to find. She checked under his bed, in books and began rifling through his dresser drawers where she finally found it. An inscribed amulet of Talos with the man's name right on it. She swiped it from the drawer and tucked it into her pocket before sneaking back to the door and scoping out the hallway.

The guard had returned to his post, but she shuffled by, stopping and acting surprised when he called out. "You're not supposed to be here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I must have gotten lost. I was looking for the Dwemer museum."

"Dwemer museum's off limits too. Now go on, get out of here. This is your last warning."

"All right, I'm going, I'm going."

She stepped into Farkas's view and he rolled his eyes at her, the man he was talking to still going on about the Stormcloaks being the true sons of Skyrim. She gestured for him to follow her and he excused himself, running up to meet with her.

"I swear, if you ever leave me like that again, I'll wring your neck with my bare hands."

"I got what we're looking for," she tapped her pocket. "Now I just have to confront Raerek."

"I'm coming with you."

She nodded, leading him up the stairs to the jarl's throne. A tall woman stepped up to stop them, calling out, "Halt. Where do you think you're going?"

"We're just mercenaries, here to see if the Jarl's got any work that needs doing."

"I don't have time for this. Talk to my steward," he gestured toward the old man sitting to the right of his throne, and Luthien grinned. Just the man she wanted to talk to anyway.

"My nephew is a very busy man and he's got a lot on his mind. What can I do for you."

"There's a certain matter we need to discuss." She drew the amulet carefully from her pocket so he could see it, and then tucked it back inside when she saw his eyes widen.

"Put that away, before anyone sees it and come with me." He rose quickly from his seat and turned over his shoulder to add, "Stay close to me and the guards won't give you any trouble."

She and Farkas followed him back through the side hallway and into his room, where he closed the door and spun around to face her, his face red with fury. "I suppose you're here to extort something from me."

"I'm here to appeal to you on behalf of Ulfric Stormcloak. It would seem we have something in common with you, and it would be a real shame if your love for Talos got out."

"What do you want from me?"

"Just your help."

"I can't help you. There are Imperials everywhere in the city, not to mention Thalmor agents… If I were found out, they'd kill me."

"And what do you think they'll do if they find out about this?" She drew the amulet out of her pocket again and held it in front of him. He started to reach for it, a desperation in his eyes that went well beyond the truth being discovered. It was as if he were actually afraid she might take his god from him. The thought made her sick… that he would worship in private, but put on a different face for an Empire that wished to take that god away from him. Gods, even her thoughts were starting to sound like Ulfric's. "We can help each other, Raerek. Give me something I can use, and no one need ever find out your secret… shame."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"I'll give this back to you as soon as you give me something to take back to my general."

"There's a large shipment that headed out this morning, silver and Imperial swords. I'll tell you where you can find it and you give that back to me."

"All right," she agreed, handing over the amulet and watching him quickly stuff it back into his drawer. "Now where can I find that shipment?"

"As I said, they left this morning, on the road to Solitude. If you hurry, you can catch them before they get too far."

"Thank you, Raerak," she said, stepping back from him. "Talos guide you."

"Get out of here," he looked away from her in shame. "Go on, before someone finds you here and you get us both killed."

Outside the city gates, Farkas turned an eye on her and said, "Aela used to scare me, but I think you scare me more now. Blackmail, extortion…"

"It had to be done," she shrugged. "And now we have to get back to Galmar with this and hope there's still time to catch that wagon on the road."

"Right," he agreed. "You know, you've come a long way from where you used to be, even just a couple months ago. You didn't even want to join this cause, but pretty soon Galmar's gonna make you a captain and after we take Solitude, everyone will know you're High Queen. Do you ever still think this isn't what Vilkas would have wanted us to do?"

"Every day," she said.

"Sometimes I think you were right," he admitted. "Jamming my blade into Imperial soldiers hasn't brought my brother back, and sometimes it makes me feel like it's all so much wasted blood."

"And other times?"

"Other times… I don't know. Other times I just want our land to be ours again. I get caught up in the stuff Ulfric touts and it reminds me of my brother. How I'd hear him behind me while we were fighting back to back, shouting at our enemy, 'Skyrim belongs to the Nords.' Sometimes I think Vilkas would have made a pretty fierce Stormcloak."

"Maybe…"

"He'd probably have marched right up to General Tullius and cracked him across his skull with the hilt of his blade."

Their laughter was uneasy, as if talking about him had suddenly become uncomfortable because they both knew they were kidding themselves. Vilkas had needed to believe in what he was fighting for, and if the gold was good, that was even better. There was not as much glory in battling the Empire as a man like Vilkas would have liked, and they certainly hadn't found much in the way of gold to heavy their purses either.

"Are we ever gonna stop missing him, Lu?" Farkas asked.

"No," she shook her head.

They didn't talk all the way back to the camp. Ulfric was gone when they arrived, Galmar informing her that he was headed back to Windhelm and would expect a full report from her when there was news to bring. "Now what did you bring me?"

"There's a wagon full of silver and Imperial swords headed north to Solitude, and if we head out quickly, we may be able to still catch it."

"We could use a wagon full of silver," Galmar stroked the knot of his beard, his eyes glistening with hope. "And those Imperia swords could come in handy too. We'll need to get out there and take that wagon before they get to Solitude. I have a band of scouts on the road just beyond Broken Tower Redoubt. I'll need you to meet up with them and form a strategy to overtake the shipment."

"I can do that."

"I can always count on you to get things done."

"We'll leave immediately."

"Report back to me as soon as you've taken the wagon," he said, adding, "and girl, I don't need to tell you to be careful out there."

"No, sir."

"Good."

Ralof and his band of scouts were waiting just beyond the tower, as Galmar said, but she and Farkas had to deal with the bandits holing up in Broken Tower Redoubt before they could meet with them. She hadn't expected Ralof to meet them with a smile, but he did, signaling from their hideout in the trees to draw them in.

"I didn't expect to see you two out here. What brings you?"

"Galmar sent us to meet up with you. There's an Imperial wagon of silver and weapons on the road headed to Solitude, and he wants us to overtake it."

"Funny," he chuckled to himself, his blue eyes lighting with intrigue. "We just so happen to have been tracking a wagon. How did you find out what they were carrying?"

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is that we take that wagon and the silver for the Stormcloaks and we do it quickly."

"Right," he agreed. "How do you want to do this?"

"Tell me about the guard."

Ralof said there were about fifteen men guarding the wagon, more than half of them archers who'd set up on the hillside above their camp. When he gestured, she could see their fire burning against the rock face, the shadows of their horses wavering in the light.

"We could sneak up the ridge and take out their archers above before attacking the men blow, and they'll never know what hit them."

"Agreed," she nodded. "You lead, I'll follow." She knew playing into his ego and giving him control of their mission had the power to smooth the prior tensions between them, and it worked. He rose up from the shadows and clapped her on the back.

"Let's do this."

As a unit, they moved among shadows, their footsteps quiet upon the earth and their blades glinting in the moonlight as they stalked the hillside. They took out two Imperial guards before the rest caught wind that they were under attack, and after that, it was complete mayhem. The heavy clatter of blades on armor hammered into the quiet night, echoing off the mountains like a bad dream. Luthien took an arrow to the shoulder, but she didn't let it slow her down. She wielded Wuuthrad with a vengeance, hacking through her foes as if they meant something to her until the Stormcloaks were the last ones standing and the wagon was theirs. They'd lost one man in the fight, and two others had been severely wounded.

She used her healing hands to help them as best she could, and then left Ralof and a handful of others behind to guard the wagon while she and Farkas led the wounded back to quiet camp.

To say Galmar was happy with their success was an understatement. They were shoving their boots right up the Empire's ass, and there was only one thing they had left to do in the Reach to prove to General Tullius the Stormcloaks were a real threat and he should be losing sleep.

"And what is this one thing we need to do?"

"We're taking Fort Sungard at dawn," he told her. "I've already sent the men ahead, and I want you to join them immediately. We need that fort, girl. Don't let me down."

"We will wipe out the garrison and take the fort," she assured him.

"Report to Ulfric when the fort is ours. Talos be with you, girl."

She and Farkas traveled through the night by horse, not coming upon the men gathered outside the fort until the fingers of the sun clawed at the eastern sky, bringing a red dawn. As they prepared for the attack, thick clouds drew in like a blanket to blot out the sun's light, and by the time they marched into the fort, heavy rain began to pour.

The rain made the fighting difficult, confusion seeping through the ranks on both sides, and Luthien was pretty sure she swept her axe through one of her own men at least once. The battle for Whiterun had been chaotic, but the fight for Fort Sungard was a nightmare. Thunder rumbled through the mountains, trembling the tower like a mighty voice in protest from the heavens. Soldiers slipped in the treacherous mud as they scrambled to catch their footing, tumbling over the stone walls to their death and arrows, so many arrows. The raucous din of battle was overwhelming, the ringing in her ears spreading through her head in undulating waves every time metal hammered into metal before thunking into flesh and breaking bone.

Over her shoulder she could hear Farkas calling out, "I'm gonna crush you like a bug!" His heavy blade gliding across three incoming Imperials like a hot knife through butter, and the sound of his voice reinspiring her faltering fury for the battle. She staggered the two men coming up the stairs after her, sweeping Wuuthrad leftward to knock them both down the stone stairs behind them and then charging in with a battle cry so powerful it burned her throat.

For hours, the battle went on. Luthien stumbled through fallen brothers as she climbed her way to the top of the tower, her heart breaking as she tried to remember all their names, but her mind unable to grasp them. She'd fought beside many of them in Whiterun, had shared mead with them and rabbit stew, battle glories and hope and so much sorrow. Many of them had died with the words, "For Ulfric!" on their lips, their love for him and their passion for their homeland renewed. "For Skyrim!" they cried as they were cut down, the pride in their voices inspiring their brothers and sisters in battle around them, and keeping them strong.

The strong rain actually proved to their advantage, the Stormcloaks were used to the elements, while the Imperials seemed almost pampered and soft, unable to fight at full capacity as it poured down around them and washed their spilt blood into a crimson river that pooled just below the fort. Standing over the body of the last Imperial she'd sunk her axe into, Luthien could see that river trickling red, staining the snow at the edges of the fort pink.

So much bloodshed. Surely Skyrim cringed at this display of Ulfric's love. She understood his vision, she truly did, but what would be left of their beloved homeland when all was said and done? A bruised and battered land whose heart and spirit were broken because its people had stood divided between her, tugging her apart like selfish children who didn't want to share her, instead of embracing her and each other. It was moments like that her new husband's vision faltered in her own heart, and she knew nothing but sorrow and regret.

Farkas ran up behind her, bending at the hips to rest on his knees as he caught his breath. Blood spattered his armor, his skin, specks of it spotted and smeared across his brow as he lifted up to look her over with concern in his eyes.

"You all right?"

Luthien nodded, and wrenched her axe from the body it had been resting in. "I took a few heavy blows, but nothing I can't heal. You?"

"I almost took an arrow to the knee, but other than that, I'm fine."

"Gotta watch those knees," she let herself smile for him, even though she barely felt it. "I've known far too many men who've had to retire and take up guard duty because of a stray arrow to that appendage."

"The fort is ours," he told her. "There are a few stragglers, but they'll root them out and make them wish they'd never been born."

"Ulfric will be happy."

Farkas lifted his hand, covered in blood and grime, to lift her chin to his gaze. "And you?"

"I will be happy when all of this is done."

Nodding understanding, he lowered his arm around her shoulders and led her down the stairs.


	21. Chapter 21

Their horses carried them quickly to Windhelm, and though her heart was still heavy with conflict of victory and the battle they'd left behind, she longed for the comfort of her lover's arms. It was early afternoon and she found Ulfric on his throne, listening to complaints from the people of Eastmarch about dragons and bandits and a caravan of Khajiit milling around outside the city selling Skooma and demanding to know what he intended to do about it. Such minor problems in the face of war, she thought, but he would see to them as he always did, never allowing his greater vision to obscure what lay directly in front of him. Ulfric seemed to be very good at focusing on the moment at hand, something she'd never done well with herself.

He did not rise when he saw her, but acknowledged her arrival with a quiet nod. She headed left for the war room and up the stairs to his quarters, where she stripped out of her armor and washed herself in the basin of water on the dresser, watching the grime and blood that stained her skin turn the water murky long before she was clean.

She donned a simple dressing gown and went straight to the bed, crawling in beneath the heavy blankets and dropping her head to the pillow with a sigh. At first, every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of those who'd died by her hand, their wide eyes staring up at her as she brought her blade down to take their life, mouths gasping pain and betrayal. She tossed in the sheets for what felt like hours before sleep finally claimed her, but even there she was not safe.

She was running again, the cubs in her arms heavy, but she couldn't drop them, couldn't let them fall behind or the dragon would devour them. Its long shadow crossed over the sun's light, darkening the land around them until she could barely see where she was going; she had to keep running. She had to keep them safe, to protect them or all hope would be lost.

And when the dragon landed in front of her, its bright red eyes the only light in her darkness, its great maw grinned wide and it bellowed out to her, "Dovahkiin…"

Ulfric's hands gripped her when she shot from sleep like an arrow in the dark, steadying her and shaking her until she came back to her senses.

"You were dreaming," he told her, leaning in to kiss her brow as he smoothed the hair away. "Only dreaming."

Her lungs burned, as if she'd really just been running and couldn't quite catch her breath. He lifted a hand to smooth her hair away from her face, his curious eyes studying her as he leaned back to look her over.

"What terrors haunt your sleep, heart of my heart?"

Luthien swallowed against the ache in her throat, and Ulfric leaned over to retrieve a tankard of water from the bedside table. She gulped it down, gasping as she handed it back to him and felt her heart begin to slow again.

"It was Alduin."

"The World Eater?"

Nodding, she let herself fall against his shoulder, grateful for the comfort of his strong arms when they came around her and held her close.

"Master Arngeir told me stories of him when I was a boy. The World Eater was banished from this world a long time ago. He cannot hurt you."

Luthien drew back to look at him. "What if he can?" she asked. "What if he found a way to come back, and he's coming for me?"

Ulfric's hand moved through her hair, a gentle act of comfort that soothed her fears as he promised with a kiss, "I would never let him hurt you."

She didn't know why, but she believed him. Sadly, it wasn't herself she was worried about. He tried to make her forget her nightmares, but the comfort of Ulfric's arms was not long for the keeping. As they lay together in the dark that night, he spoke of the damage they had done, and their next move against the Empire. They had taken The Reach back, and their next target would carry them closer to Solitude and a final confrontation with General Tullius and his men, but there was still so much to be done.

"You are making a name for yourself among the men," he said, rolling onto his side to face her as he laid his head next to her on the pillow. "Galmar tells me some of them have taken to calling you Snow-Hammer, for your prowess and unyielding stamina in the face of our enemy."

"Many of those men are now dead," she lamented.

"And you mourn them with the heart of a queen. If only they knew that which I hold dearest to my heart fought beside them on the battlefield, they would lift you up in reverence and worship you as their true high queen." His hand rested on her shoulder. "When Sovngarde calls, men must answer, Luthien. Remember with your heart those warriors watch over us from above and know that every time we stand against the Imperials who hold our homeland just out of our reach, the spirit of those men follows us into battle and strengthens our resolve."

"And what will happen when we take Skyrim back from the Empire, Ulfric."

"We will restore her to her former glory."

"Does that mean forcing all who aren't of Nordic blood from our land? Will we go on fighting long after the Imperials are gone simply to ensure that those who are not like us can ever claim her again?"

"If we must."

"Ulfric, we cannot. If we free Skyrim from the Empire, then we should keep her free, free for everyone who's come here looking for peace and respite from the oppression that lies beyond our borders."

"I will fight anyone who tries to take this land from me," he said. "But that is another matter entirely, and not one we need concern ourselves with now, Luthien. Not when the Empire is still clenching us tight in their fist." Brushing the hair from her brow, he leaned in and gently kissed the last place his fingers had touched. "When that time comes, I will listen to your woman's heart and your council, but for now, let us not speak of things so far into the future we can barely even see them."

"I just worry, Ulfric," she told him, reaching up to curl her fingers around his wrist and hold his hand against her cheek. "About the dragons and the Thalmor… I fear they are going to take advantage of our weakness when all is said and done. This war has weakened all of our people, not just the Nords. If we begin pushing away those who would aid us in our greatest hour simply because they are not of this land, we will lose the land we love forever."

"Sometimes you are wise beyond your years," he whispered against her lips. "And I forget how young you really are. But let us focus on the task at hand right now. Once we've brought the Empire to its knees, we will discuss your fears in greater detail, I promise you."

Knowing she would never draw his mind from his focus, she asked, "Then what is our next move against the Empire?"

"We need to take back Hjaalmarch," he said. "And as much as I regret having to send you away from me and back into the field where I can't protect you, Galmar will need your aid. He's come to depend on you and there is much that needs done if we wish to wrench Hjaalmarch from the Empire's hands."

"I will leave in the morning."

He nodded sorrowful concession and rolled onto his back, pulling her to lay across his chest as his arm tightened against her back. "I long for the day when I can hold you close and watch your belly swell with my seed."

Closing her eyes, flashing pictures of her nightmare flooded through her mind. Her cubs, their blue eyes so familiar as they looked to her for protection. Again she thought of Kodlak, the prophetic dream that had led her to his door all those years ago. Her dreams had never meant anything of consequence before, but she'd also never had the same dream twice before. Maybe it was trying to tell her something, but what?

Had Ulfric's seed already taken root inside her, she wondered. Were the cubs she dreamed of so fiercely protecting his sons? Their sons?

Even long after she heard his breath slow into long, quiet snores, she laid awake in his arms trying to remember the last time she'd had her moon blood. It had been before they'd taken Fort Neugrad, and by her calculations it should have come upon her again, but it hadn't. With the constant chaos of travel and battle, she hadn't thought anything of it, but now its absence lingered there in the back of her mind.

Untucking herself from his arm, she slid out of bed and walked to the fire, looking down over her naked body in its light. It didn't look any different, but as she slid her hand down the smooth surface of her belly, it felt tight and tender, but that didn't mean anything. Did it? Her entire body was one big bruise after the battle at Fort Sungard.

Ulfric stirred behind her, sheets ruffling with his movement. "What are you doing?"

She drew her hand away from her belly. "Nothing. Just warming myself by the fire."

"Come back to bed," he said. "I will keep you warm."

She closed her eyes a moment, and then rejoined him in bed. He drew the blankets over them both, holding her close and rubbing his warm hands over her cold skin until he drifted back to sleep like a man without the weight of the world on his shoulders. Luthien listened to him snore for hours, her mind wandering over that possibility, wondering if she should speak with him about it and then deciding just before dawn that he had enough on his mind. She would tell him when she knew for sure, but for the moment she would keep it tucked inside her and wait.


	22. Chapter 22

She and Farkas had been tracking the Imperial Courier for over a week. Galmar sent them to intercept the man and steal the package he was carrying to Legate Duilis in Morthal so he could make a few changes to the missive that would give the Stormcloaks an upper hand. They'd been back and forth between Rorikstead and Dragon Bridge what felt like half a dozen times, but finally they caught up with him just outside Rorikstead.

She'd never been much for picking pockets, and when she approached, demanding he hand over the documents he was carrying, he flat out refused and drew his blade on them. It ended badly for the Imperial Courier, her sword driving up under his armor and twisting into his ribcage. She could feel the sticky warmth of his life force spilling out over her hand, and that combined with the coppery smell of blood was suddenly so strong it overpowered her and made her feel nauseous and dizzy.

Without even pulling her sword out, she let the body drop and staggered back. She knelt over a boulder on the side of the road, vomiting up the apple and cabbage stew she'd eaten that afternoon. Farkas lingered over the dead body, tugging her sword out and wiping the blood on his breeches, the mere thought of which only served to sicken her more, bringing on another round of violent retching that didn't feel like it would ever stop.

"You're sick, I get that," he said, walking up to stand behind her. He handed her some water and she swished it in her mouth, then spat beside her, pushing back up to her feet. "We probably could have caught up with that guy four days ago if we hadn't had to keep stopping so you could throw up. What I don't understand is why you don't just drink one of the potions in your damn sack and get it over with."

"I'm not sick." She wiped the back of her hand across her damp mouth and took another drink.

"Yeah," he nodded. "You keep saying that, but I think denial might be one of the symptoms. Just drink a potion already."

Ignoring him, she asked, "Was that guy carrying anything else of importance?"

"Not really. A few Septims."

"We should get these back to Galmar. He probably thinks we're dead."

"He probably does," he agreed. "And you can be the one to explain to him why it took so long to catch up with the guy. Maybe he'll make you sit the next one out so you can take some time to recover from whatever it is that's ailing you."

"I'm not sick, Farkas. All right. I'm fine, and if you say anything to Galmar, I'll break your jaw."

"You're so touchy too," he shook his head. "I swear, no matter what I say, you chew my head off."

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'm just tired and I have a lot on my mind."

The dream haunted her every time she closed her eyes, which made it hard to get a good night's sleep when they were actually able to try and catch one. To make matters worse, her moon blood still hadn't come and the nausea had started shortly after they left for Rorikstead the first time. Always in the morning, or late at night, and it left her whole body trembling and weak until it passed. Sometimes it didn't feel like it was going to pass at all, but when it finally did, she was exhausted so deep in her bones she could fall asleep where she stood if they just stood still long enough for her to close her eyes.

She had no doubts anymore that she was with child, but she didn't know what to do about it. They were in the middle of a war, and Ulfric's mind was so preoccupied with strategies for making General Tullius squirm, he couldn't afford that kind of distraction. On the other hand, she didn't think he would be too happy if something happened to his unborn child because she'd been careless in battle.

For the time being, she kept telling herself she would have to protect herself and her baby as best she could with magic, but there was only so much magic could do. In the heat of battle, people weren't thinking about not harming a woman coming at them with a war axe, and the archers on the walls would loose arrows at every man and woman in blue that crossed their path.

Galmar was coming out of the tent to meet them when they made their way into camp, word having traveled of their arrival before they got to him.

"I was just about to send scouts out to find you. Where the hell have you two been?" he scowled.

Before Farkas could say anything stupid, she dropped the Imperial documents on the table. "That guy was all over the place, but we finally caught up with him."

"Let me take a look at these." He unrolled them and grinned to himself, nodding and looking up at her before nodding again and refocusing his attention on their plans. "They know far more about our plans than I had hoped. Let's just make a few changes to these documents and get them delivered to Legate Duilis over in Morthal straight away."

"I can take them."

"Sir," Farkas spoke up. "I hope you'll excuse this interruption, but I can take them. She's exhausted and…"

"I said, I'll take them," she reiterated, swiping the parcel from Galmar's hands. "I'm no more tired than you are."

But Farkas had gotten the General's attention, and he scrutinized her as he stroked his beard, his soft eyes taking her in. "You do look tired, soldier. Perhaps you should sit this one out, and I can send someone else."

"I'm fine, sir. I'll deliver them."

"All right, but take some rest before you go. Catch a few hours sleep, and take the horses so you can get there and back quickly. If everything goes as planned, we'll be attacking Fort Snowhawk as soon as you return. I'll need you to be ready."

"We will be, sir, and I won't be taking rest. We'll all get to sleep in the Hall of Heroes when we're dead."

"That's the spirit, girl."

She could see Farkas preparing to protest, but she had spoken and was already on her way out of the tent with the altered documents and heading toward the horses. He followed, quickly catching up with her and grabbing her by the arm.

"You need some sleep, Lu. We both do."

"Then stay here and sleep, Farkas. I can do this one without you."

He sighed, loosening his grip on her arm. "What is wrong with you? Are you trying to get yourself killed, or something?"

"I'm trying to get this job done, so we can move onto the next one and get this damn war over with. Now either you're coming with me, or you're staying here. Pick one and do it."

"I'm coming with you," he said, as if it was the only choice he'd been given.

"Then let's go."

She climbed up onto the horse and steered it toward the road, not looking back to make sure he was behind her. She could hear him coming.

They rode in silence, at a good pace that didn't allow for talking. She was glad for that. She didn't want to keep telling him nothing was wrong, but she didn't want to tell him the truth either. If any of them knew she was with child, they'd send her back to Windhelm and keep her prisoner there until the war was over. Maybe that was the right thing to do, for herself, for her unborn child, but damn it, she'd come so far in this war—against her better judgment at that—she wanted to see it through until the last battle was won. Maybe then she'd finally understand exactly what they'd been fighting for in the first place.

Legate Duilis eyed them suspiciously when they came in, arrogantly noting they must have lost their Imperial uniforms along the way. She was surprised to hear Farkas on the ball, explaining that it was easier to get past the enemy while donning their colors. Duilis was impressed enough with his answer, taking the documents and looking them over before offering them a few gold Septims to treat themselves to a drink at the Inn before returning to their unit.

They skipped drinks at the Inn, the mere thought of mead making Luthien feel nauseous, and while she lost her lunch just outside Morthal, Farkas watched her back just like he always did.

Funny, she thought as she found her feet again… being pregnant felt a lot like being poisoned. Actually, it felt worse.

"I wish you'd just tell me what the hell is wrong with you," he said as she remounted and pulled her helmet back on. "I mean, if you were dying or something, you'd tell me, right?"

"I'm not dying."

"Do you even actually know what's wrong with you?"

"Yes," she kicked into her horse and he started to saunter forward, the jaunt and sway of his movement stirring her nausea again. She gripped the horse's mane and leaned back, tilting her face toward the sky to let the air cool her face.

"Are you gonna share that information anytime soon?"

"When they time is right, I'll tell you."

He didn't press her after that, but he seemed to ease up a bit, no longer commenting about it if she did feel the need to stop and get sick.

She just kept telling herself not to think about it, as if that would make it go away until she was ready for it to be real, but it was impossible to keep her mind off of. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Alduin, glaring eyes like red flame in the dark. She couldn't stop her child from coming any more than she could stop Alduin, no matter what Ulfric said about him being banished from their world. He was out there somewhere; she could feel him on the wind, and one day she would have to protect Skyrim and her children from his wrath.


	23. Chapter 23

The Stormcloaks turned Fort Snowhawk into a slaughterhouse. Thanks to the forged documents they'd delivered to Legate Duilis, the fort had never gotten the reinforcements they so desperately needed. The fighting only lasted about an hour before they surrendered the fort to Ralof, who congratulated them all on a battle well fought as they gathered in the courtyard. Ninety-percent of the casualties had been Imperial, and though it didn't lessen the weight of all that death on her conscience, she was happy the victory had been more one-sided for once.

"My first command," he beamed. "I think it went well."

"And you said Galmar didn't even know your name. Ulfric will be pleased when I deliver word of our victory here today."

That wasn't the only thing he would be pleased about. She'd managed to avoid the archers during the battle, and the only blow she'd taken had been to the shin. Next time, she might not be so lucky, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. She'd also managed to keep herself from falling prey to her own nausea, but she didn't know much longer she could keep that at bay with the pungent smell of death so heavy in the air.

"Though more and more often, I've been hearing things about Ulfric that unsettle me," Ralof admitted, drawing his helmet off and shaking the sweat-soaked strands of his blonde hair loose around his shoulders. "People saying his purpose is false and he's misguiding us, using us just so he can gain power. I don't know what to believe in anymore."

She didn't feel the need to remind him that she'd said those same sorts of things to him when they'd first been reunited, while journeying to Windhelm together all those months ago. In that short time, her own mind had changed, and even if she still didn't completely agree with everything Ulfric said, there was one thing they both agreed on without fail. "Believe in Skyrim," she said.

"I always will."

"Talos be with you, Ralof."

"And you."

On the journey to Windhelm, she and Farkas stopped to rest in Whiterun for the night. As they passed through the gates, her hope that Lydia would be waiting for them faltered when she saw no sign of hearthfire coming from Breezehome. She unlocked the door and stepped into the empty house with a sigh. No one had been there since she and Ulfric had left, and her heart only grew heavier with worry.

"Maybe we should send Aela out to track her down," Farkas suggested.

"We should," she agreed. "Will you go and talk to her, please? I just want to lie down for a little while in my own bed."

"Of course."

"Tell her I'll pay her whatever she requires and ask her to send word to Windhelm as soon as she has something."

"Will do."

He left her alone in the house, and she climbed the stairs to fall into bed without even slipping out of her armor. Her entire body ached from the battle and the road, and though she'd only been lying down a few minutes before the nausea overpowered her, she stayed still and road it out until it passed, finally falling asleep.

The dream came quickly, beginning with the fresh smell of the air and the warm sun on her skin. Her little bear cubs nuzzling their cold, wet noses into her cheek and then running playfully through the flowers with her at their heels. Only they weren't bear cubs anymore, they were children. Two boys with bright red hair and freckled skin, eyes like molten steel that stared back at her with such love and devotion it made her heart swell inside her as she reached to scoop them into her arms.

"Look, mummy," the smallest of the two, who couldn't have been older than three, pointed over her shoulder at the growing shadow in the sky. "Alduin."

She ran, her bare feet like thunder on the earth, but the land stretched out for miles all around her, no shelter in sight. They gripped her hands, squeezing her fingers so tight as the three of them ran, looking back over their shoulders to watch the dragon's body blot out the light of the sun until all was dark.

"The World Eater is coming, mother," the oldest boy told her.

"Dovahkiin," his mighty voice echoed all around her.

Together, the three of them opened their mouths and shouted back at him, but Alduin only laughed, his mighty roar mingling with the thunder that cracked the sky when she sat up in bed and scanned the dark room trying to remember where she was.

Feet shuffled on the floor below as the scent of hearth fire and cooking food wafted up to meet her. Sickened by the smell, she grabbed a bowl from the bedside table and retched until there was nothing left inside her to throw up. Falling back into the pillows, she curled onto her side and rode the waves of nausea until they passed, and then she made her way downstairs where Farkas was sitting by the fire with a mug of ale.

"You're awake."

"I couldn't sleep anymore."

"Bad dreams again?"

"Yeah."

"You want to talk about it yet?"

"Dragons," she shrugged. "The World Eater… devouring my life bite by bite until nothing is left."

"The World Eater?"

"Alduin."

Farkas didn't say anything, so she sat down beside him and for a long time the two of them stared into the fire in silence. After a time, she heard his breathing slow and when she looked over he was sleeping with his chin in his shoulder, the empty cup in his hand propped on his thigh. It was no wonder he hadn't fallen asleep sooner. He'd stuck by her through all the running they'd done over the last weeks, and their last battle had taken its toll on both of them. She didn't think either of them had really slept since before leaving Windhelm.

She let him rest through the night, while she sifted through her stock of ingredients and spent hours in the Alchemy lab making potions to stock her shelves with. It was a soothing process that always seemed to take her mind off her troubles, and for a time she did not remember her dreams or the war, but she never stopped thinking about those two little boys.

It was a strange thing to her that she and Vilkas had been married two years, and in that two years, no matter how many times they'd lain together she'd never gotten pregnant. She wasn't even sure if the child she carried now had been conceived before or after she'd wed Ulfric, but it felt like a sign from the gods that she was on the right path. Vilkas had once told her that no matter where she stood in life, she had to know in her heart she exactly where she was supposed to be, but in times of doubt and strife, believing in that was easier said than done.

There was no doubt in her mind that the World Eater was coming, and it was up to her to stop him. She just didn't know how, but she was pretty sure getting the people of Skyrim to stop tearing each other apart was the first step. It was too late to stop the war; they'd gone too far and Ulfric would never surrender to the Empire, so she would have to do everything in her power to see it finished and turn her attention back to the dragons where it belonged.

She had a child to think about…


	24. Chapter 24

"Tullius must be getting nervous now that we've taken Hjaalmarch. We're practically in his backyard now." Ulfric looked across the table at her, his eyebrow lifted and brow furrowed as he watched her devour the plate of rare beef swimming in its own blood. "Soon we'll march on Solitude, and when that day comes, you will fight beside me as my captain."

"Are you going to eat that?" Before he could answer, she dug her fork into the baked potatoes on his plate, transferring them to her own and digging in.

"We stand within spitting distance of Solitude, on the brink of victory and all you can think of is food." He chuckled, watching her eat with great amusement. "Are the soldiers in my camps really so starved that you feel the need to gorge yourself like this?"

"I feel like I'm starving."

"Then by all means, woman," he pushed the last of his untouched food toward her, "eat."

The nausea still hadn't abated, but between bouts of hovering over a bucket and holding damp cloths against her spinning head, ravenous hunger plagued her. She hated it because when she did get sick, it felt like such a waste, but she kept telling herself the more she ate, the more likely the child inside her would take nourishment from the food she did manage to keep down.

"I hear Tullius has troops in the Pale. I don't understand why he feels the need try and take Winterhold from me," he shook his head. "But if he wants to throw away his men, I'll gladly accept that gift. It will make for fewer soldiers when we stand against Solitude." Rising from the table, he walked to the chest at the foot of the bed. "And when we do, I want you to wield this." He drew a long-handled axe out, closed the chest and turned back to present her with it. "The Axe of Eastmarch," he explained. "It once belonged to my father, the Great Bear of Eastmarch. He would have been proud to know a warrior such as you carried it into battle."

"Perhaps you should save that for your own son, my lord."

"Perhaps," he contemplated, looking down over the curve of the blade. "When that day comes, it will be his mother who gives it to him with stories of all the Imperials she wiped out with it during the War for Skyrim that made his father a king."

"It will be an honor then, to carry your father's axe into battle."

"My father would have liked you," he lamented, returning to his seat. "He had a great fondness for intelligent Nord women who weren't afraid to speak their minds and lift their arms in battle."

"I don't always speak my mind," she said.

"No, but when you do, I listen. Is there something on it now that you would like to share?"

"I still dream of Alduin," she changed the subject, hoping he would listen to her even as she drew their talk away from war. "Every night he haunts the grounds of my sleep, devouring everything, laughing at me."

He tilted his head, his braid nestling against his cheek as she watched her reach for her fork again. "What do you think it means?"

"He is out there somewhere and he is coming."

He plucked a grape from her plate and tucked it between his lips. "Alduin is gone from this plane."

Shaking her head, she swallowed the food in her mouth. "If the dragons are returning, why not Alduin too? Maybe he is the one who's brought them back."

"Have you spoken to the Greybeards of this?"

"I have not spoken to Master Arngeir in months."

"Perhaps you should go to them."

"When the war is over—"

"You are a good wife, a strong woman and I know you only say that to please me," he reached over and touched her face. "But if you feel you must go to the Greybeards now, then by all means go. We've got Tullius pinned into a corner, and he's not going anywhere."

"You speak as if you couldn't go on fighting and win this war without me." She lowered her fork to the plate and leaned forward, resting her cheek in the palm of her hand.

"Galmar says they call you Stormblade now, as if you walk into every battle as though I am with you in your heart, and you would win this war for me single-handed if you could. You inspire my men and bring them hope in ways I never could, Luthien. You have done more for me than any soldier, and I truly believe that I could not win this war without you."

"You once told me Torygg's downfall was his woman…"

"Torryg was young, and no doubt driven by his young man's prick to make his wife whimper and coo. My woman is my strength. While Elisif hides behind the Empire, sobbing into her kerchief over her dead husband's corpse, you fight beside me as my equal. And were I to die tomorrow, you wouldn't lock yourself in this tower with your tears. You would go on fighting until every last Imperial was wiped clean from this land."

Several months ago, if he'd said those words to her she would never have believed them, but they were true. Ulfric's cause was hers now, his battles as well.

"I would never let them kill you," she smiled, nestling her face into his broad palm and closing her eyes.

He laughed, drawing her close and resting his forehead to hers. "If you wish to go to the Greybeards, go. You have my blessing."

"No," she shook her head. "I don't think the Greybeards are the ones who can help me. I will go back to Riverwood after the war and seek out the woman, Delphine."

"The woman the Thalmor are after?"

She nodded.

"Then when the time comes, I will come with you."

"You will have more than your share of things to do when all is said and done. Skyrim will need rebuilding…"

"You helped me win my war," he said, fingers twining into the hair at the nape of her neck, drawing her across the table until his forehead rested against hers. "I will help you win yours."

"We haven't won anything yet."

"But we will, heart of my heart." He kissed the tip of her nose. "With the two of us side by side, we can make this land ours, and no one will ever take it from us again. Not the Empire or the Thalmor, not the dragons. One day they will tell our story, the tale of Ulfric and Luthien, who single-handedly brought an Empire to its knees. I promise you."

He made it sound so easy, and once again she believed him, even though she knew in her heart that it would be no simple task. The Empire had been only men, and Thalmor magic was strong, but Alduin was death with wings, the jewel of Akatosh, and he would sweep down with a vengeance when the time was right to strike. She didn't know if just the two of them would be strong enough to face him, even together, but she said nothing. She yielded to his playful kisses and when he drew her toward the bed, she went, burying her fears and her secrets deeper inside her.

And when she lay in the comfort and safety of his arms, listening to his heart beat inside his chest, she longed to tell him those secrets, but the time wasn't right.

Instead, she curled in closer and said, "Tell me more about your father."

"My father was a good man, a proud Nord. He died while I was imprisoned after the Markharth incident. I, his only son, forced to deliver his eulogy via a letter I had snuck out of prison. Such is the love of Titus Meade for his subjects," he sighed. "When finally set free, I had come to terms with my own grief and anger, but when returned to Windhelm, I was greeted by a city in mourning. Clamoring in angry voices, calling out for justice and war, they set me on the throne. The throne of Ysgramor, my father's throne, but I fear I am not even half the man that he was. I fear sometimes I am not worthy of that honor."

"If you still feel small in his shadow, then he was a good father."

"He made me everything I am." He was thoughtful for a moment and then he asked, "What kind of man was your father? I am ashamed that I have never asked."

"He was a blacksmith," she said. "A good, strong Nord who loved his land and his people, but more than anything his family… If he could see me now, I don't know what he'd make of who I have become."

"He sees you. He watches over you from Sovngarde," Ulfric told her. "And he is proud of his daughter, the Dragonborn Queen of Skyrim."

"I wonder sometimes what kind of mother I will be," she murmured. "Fighting oppression, battling dragons that would devour and destroy our very world… I wonder if it's even wise to bring children into a world that is so broken."

"Mm," he muttered sleepily. "Children are the light and hope in a dark world. They are why we fight wars and dragons."

Luthien lifted her head to look down at him, knowing she had never told him that her mother used to say those words. He didn't even open his eyes, just drew her head back to his chest as he yawned and told her to sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

At first it felt strange, not having Wuuthrad strapped across her back. The Axe of Eastmarch was lighter, but its blade more precise. As she stepped out of the war tent donning her captain's uniform for the first time, the bear helm tucked under her arm, Farkas approached with the others as she rallied the men around her, his eyes gleaming with pride and approval.

They were meeting their brothers and sisters in blood outside Hraggstad to take over the fort, and after that, Ulfric would join them all in Solitude for the final battle against the Empire.

"It has been a long and weary road, and many of us have lost brothers, sisters, fathers, sons and daughters along the way, but we our spirit does not waver and neither does theirs. They watch over us from Sovngarde, lifting their swords and their battle cries for Skyrim."

"For Skyrim!" the men cried out.

"We will take back our land and our home and send the Empire screaming back to Cyrodiil."

She caught sight of Galmar peering out from his tent, a gleam in his eye as he lifted his fist into the air with the men, a great bellow of support that rang through the hills.

As they fell into line to begin the march to Fort Hraggstad, Farkas stepped up beside her, nudging his shoulder into hers as they walked.

"Who does a guy gotta sleep with around here to get one of those uniforms?"

"I hear Galmar's got an extra helmet, but I don't think he's your type."

"Definitely not," he shuddered at the thought. "Doesn't Ulfric have a sister or something, not that I imagine she'd be very easy on the eyes either, but when the lights are out it doesn't really matter what she looks like."

"Farkas," she elbowed him in the stomach. "Ulfric was an only child, but I'll tell you what," she started, "if we both get through this alive, you can have mine."

"What do you mean _if_?" He nudged her again. "We've made it this far. This damn war's almost over. I have no intentions of dying now."

"Me either," she said.

"Then that helmet is as good as mine," he grinned.

She could feel the nervous rumble that always preceded battle entangling with the nausea in her stomach as they marched. She was learning to control the nausea, battling it with hard crusts of bread and water in the mornings before it could overpower her, but there was no cure for the trembling nerves of a battle-ready soldier—especially a warrior who carried the son of a king in her belly.

She had taken precautions on the road from Windhelm, intently studying a spell book she'd purchased from Wuunferth the Unliving before leaving the Palace of the Kings. She'd been practicing the Dragonhide spell over and over, in hopes that it would keep protect her and her unborn child as they stormed the fort. It took a lot out of her, but she'd stocked up on extra potions, both magicka and healing, to guarantee she didn't come up short if when she came under enemy fire.

Fort Hraggstad overlooked the Sea of Ghosts, perched atop a treacherous mountain slick with ice and snow. The Stormcloaks marched side by side through the raggedly strewn trees in hopes of keeping their cover until they came upon the troops Galmar had sent ahead to prepare for the battle. Ralof was there, hunched down and drawing out a battle strategy with a stick in the clean snow.

"I want our best archers overlooking the western wall, raining arrows down from above," he said. "My men and I will charge in the main entrance and take the southeastern wall, while the captain and her men challenge the northeast wall. There's a gap just under the tower there that will allow you to drive in and take out the guard."

"This is it, soldiers," Luthien stood tall as they gathered around her. "Once the fort is ours, many of us will storm Solitude with our king. Let's make Ulfric proud."

They split into three divisions, and Luthien led her troops through the gap beneath the turret. Drawing in a deep breath, she drew from the well of magic inside her until the Dragonhide spell whirled around her like a protective cloak. And then she charged, pulling the Axe of Eastmarch from her back and storming into battle with a furious cry that sent several Imperial soldiers staggering back with its power.

Arrows deflected off her armor, bouncing to the stone beneath her feet as she swept through the oncoming sea of Imperial soldiers coming at them like a wave of red and gold that clashed against the blue Stormcloaks shore rushing to meet them. Steel hammered steel, armor breaking under its heavy weight as cries of protest rang through the fort and blood slicked stone when bodies fell. She couldn't afford to look down at those who fell beneath her feet, and trampled over them on her way to meet with the second wave.

There were so many of them and they just kept coming as arrows rained down from the walls above. Luthien couldn't afford the distraction, so she turned over her shoulder, focused her mind and shouted them with unrelenting force from the tops of the walls. Their bodies fell in slow motion, crumbling like thunder as they hit the ground below and giving her the moment she needed to slam back a magicka potion and strengthen her Dragonhide spell before diving back into battle.

She didn't know where Farkas was, but she could hear his voice growling somewhere to her left. "Skyrim belongs to the Nords!" he cried, in honor of his lost brother, not there to fight beside him.

"Hyah!" she slammed her axe down into the shoulder of an Imperial Nord that came rushing in to smash her from her reverie, cleaving his arm from his body. He fell screaming, calling out to Talos for mercy and breaking her heart.

How many of the men they fought against still secretly prayed their beloved god, fighting against those who sought to restore Talos to his former glory so that one day they might meet him in Sovngarde and tell him how sorry they were they'd failed him? But there was no time to waste mourning her enemy. More were coming and she spun to face them with fire in her heart so strong it burned as she reaped her axe through their numbers until none were standing but her.

As she looked around, she saw blue among the red, her fallen brothers and sisters, the sound of dying battle ringing in her ears. Ralof's men were still fighting on the other side of the wall, and she made her way to join them until only Ulfric's men stood, proudly lording over their victory.

She scanned the faces for Farkas, but he was not among them and thick panic seeped through her as she started to backtrack through the bodies she'd left behind her in search of him. Every blue uniform she saw laying among the dead made her heart hitch into her throat, until she turned them over one by one and felt relief warm through her again.

"Farkas?" she began calling out, carefully darting across the blood-slick stone. "Farkas? Answer me. I swear to Talos, when I find you, I'm going to bash you in the face with my shield if you don't say something."

Her eyes began to blur with the sting of tears, hands trembling at her sides. When she blinked, their warmth rushed down her cheeks, washing away dirt and blood. "Come on, Farkas," she muttered under her breath. "Please, Talos."

"Luthien," Ralof called from the top of the wall. When she looked up, he waved for her to join them. "He's up here."

She didn't even think about herself, she just ran, navigating through the dead as if through an obstacle course. She took the stairs two at a time, her heart racing so fast inside her chest she thought it would explode before she reached the top. As she hiked the last stair, she saw a group of soldiers lingering around a fallen body, and relief coursed through her as she saw that body move.

"He took an arrow in the back," Ralof told her as he approached. "I think it may have pierced the heart."

"Is he…"

"He's lost a lot of blood."

Pushing through the soldiers without a care, she dropped to her knees and grabbed his face in her hands. "Farkas? Can you hear me?"

"Lu?" A slow grin drew at the corner of his mouth at the sound of her voice. "Did we do it?"

"The fort is ours."

"Good."

"You're going to be okay," she told him, gathering all her strength and power and summoning the force of restoration from her soul. "I promise." Her magicka was still regenerating from the Dragonhide spell, but she had potions and she would swallow every last one in her supply if she had to. She wasn't going to lose him the say way she'd lost his brother. The energy transferred from her body to his, and he laid back, allowing it to warm through him as he closed his eyes. "Ralof?" she called over her shoulder. "In my bag, there are potions, I need them, now."

"What kind of potions?"

"In the blue bottles, bring as many as you can find."

He ran to her, still carrying the bag and handing her the biggest bottle she carried. She guzzled it down quickly, feeling its power surge through her like a hot wave and then drain from her again as she transferred it to her fallen brother. He'd uncorked another and was handing it to her before she even had to ask, and she swallowed that one in heavy gulps, still healing Farkas as she drank.

"That feels good," Farkas murmured, laying back his head and closing his eyes.

"That means it's working," she told him, reaching for another potion from Ralof and downing it so fast she almost choked. With her free hand, she stroked the hair from his face, fingers cupping his cheek as she leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Sleep, brother. You're going to be okay."

She'd never sighed such heavy relief in her life, as she rocked back onto her heels and dropped onto her backside, letting the tears overwhelm her. As the men around her bent to lift him and carry him into the fort where he could rest, Luthien sobbed where she sat, her heart aching with memory and grief as the snow began to fall.

She was surprised when Ralof knelt to help her to her feet, and walked with his arm around her into the fort, where she stood over Farkas for hours, holding her healing hands over his chest even when she knew he didn't need them anymore. He slept, a deep sleep that let him continue to heal, and she watched over him until Galmar arrived.

He walked among the injured soldiers, stopping to ask how they were doing and handing out the last of the healing potions he'd brought with him from the encampment. When he arrived behind Luthien, he said nothing, just dropped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, watching over Farkas with her until he grew weary and left her to keep her silent vigil alone.


	26. Chapter 26

She hadn't meant to fall asleep in the chair beside his bed, but when she woke the panic gripped her to find it empty and she jolted from her seat, the blanket that had covered her dropping to the floor and nearly tripping her. The guard outside the door smiled at her when she passed him, nodding toward the dining hall where the soldiers had gathered for breakfast.

As soon as she saw him, she broke into a sprint, nearly tackling him as she threw her arms around him and squeezed so tight he winced. Backing up to look at him, she drew back her fist and hammered it hard into his arm, swearing at him as she punched.

"If you ever scare me like that again, I'll… I'll perform the Dark Sacrament. Do you hear me?"

Laughing, he gathered her against him, holding her close and promising he would never almost die on her as long as they lived. As they walked outside together, the cold wind moving between their linked arms, Luthien felt some of the heaviness in her heart lighten, but it was still hard for her to breathe. She'd almost lost him. What would she do without Farkas in her life?

"It felt like what happened with Vilkas all over again," she said distantly. "My magicka was weak because I had to protect myself more than I normally do, and I didn't know if I could save you."

"But you did save me," he nudged into her. "And I owe you for that."

"You owe me nothing. I'm your shield-sister. I'm sworn to protect you."

"And I you, but… I'm not going to Solitude with you, Lu."

She didn't know why, but that news actually relieved her. They were stronger together in battle, but that had been against much smaller numbers. At war, they were divided, separated and it was harder to look out for each other when you couldn't even find one another among the haggard faces on the field.

"Galmar says I'm to stay here on light duty, help restore the fort and clean things up. I'm not happy about it, but…"

"But it's good. There is no one in this world I'd rather have at my back, Farkas, but I can't lose you too. You're weakened right now, and I might not be there next time to heal you."

"I'm disappointed I won't be there when you win the war," he admitted. "I won't get to celebrate with the others when you drive back the Empire and Ulfric names you his queen."

"You've already heard Ulfric name me his queen," she shrugged. "You won't be missing anything."

"Maybe not, but I still wish I was going with you. Someone's gotta watch your back, protect you and that baby you're carrying around." When she leaned out to look at him, eyes squinting, he shook his head. "I may not be the smartest man alive, but I'm not entirely stupid. I started to put two and two together after Fort Snowhawk, but what I still don't understand is why Ulfric hasn't locked you up in Windhelm, where you belong. You shouldn't be charging into battle in your condition."

"Ulfric doesn't know." She lifted a hand into her hair, smoothing it back from her face before the wind could sweep it back in again. "And I'm not telling him until the war is over."

"Do you think that's really a good idea? If something happens to you…"

"We'll be fine," she assured him. "That spell I was using, the one that drained my magicka, it protects us both."

"Then you better make sure you have more than enough damn potions in that bag of yours. I get the feeling Ulfric would destroy more than just the Empire if anything happened to you and his unborn child."

"I'll restock before I go. I promise."

He relented, though she could still see doubt in his eyes when he gave in. "I still think you should have told him."

"It's too late for that now."

"Maybe. Maybe I should tell Galmar to keep you here on light duty so you can clean up the mess we made here." As she started to draw her fist back, he ducked to the side laughing. "All right, all right. I'll keep my mouth shut, but you promise me you'll come back from this in one piece. You and that baby."

"We've got dragon's blood in our veins," she smiled softly. "We will be fine."

"You damn well better be."

She realized as Galmar rallied the troops to follow him to Solitude, it was the first time she would be going into a fight without Farkas in years. They'd watched each other's backs so long, she couldn't imagine a battle where he wasn't somewhere behind her wreaking havoc on their enemy to protect her. She glanced back over her shoulder one last time and saw him standing at the gate, watching them leave, his face long with sorrow as if he truly feared it would be the last time they saw one another.

The road to Solitude thundered under the force of Stormcloak boots, marching to death and war with Ulfric's banners flying high, cracking as it rippled in the wind. He would be there with them, for the final battle, and together they would fight side by side to rid Skyrim of the Empire once and for all. From the side of her bear helm, she glimpsed Galmar staring ahead and wondered what he was thinking. As if he felt her gaze, he turned to look at her and smiled.

"No matter what happens in Solitude today, girl, we will be heroes."

She nodded, remembering a day not so long ago when they'd stood face to face for the first time. He hadn't thought much of her that day, but she'd come a long way to prove herself. None could ever say she'd won anyone's respect because of her place in Ulfric's heart. She'd proven her honor and courage, her ferocity and her love for Skyrim to them all.

They were met by cannon fire, flames lapping at the crumbled stone walls around Solitude where Ulfric and his men gathered for the final battle. They marched in to join them, falling into ranks before them. He looked up when he saw them, his gaze passing over her briefly, a light flaring in his eyes before he looked away and lifted his sword to rally the men one last time. It took everything inside her not to run into his arms and kiss him as if it would be the last kiss they ever shared.

"This is it, men. It's time to make this city ours. We come to this moment carried by the sacrifices and courage of our fellows. Of those who have fallen and those still bearing the shields to our right. On this day, our enemy will know the fullness of our determination, the true depth of our anger and the exulted righteousness of our cause. The gods are watching. The spirits of our ancestors are stirring and men under suns yet to dawn will be transformed by what we do here today. Fear neither pain, nor darkness, for Sovngarde waits for those who die with weapons in their hands and courage in their hearts."

The men at her back bellowed in righteous anger and agreement, some of them crying out for Ulfric, others for Sovngarde and others still calling out their love for Skyrim. She knew not how many of them would have that call answered on that day, but they would die knowing they'd followed their hearts and that was all that mattered.

"We now fight our way to Castle Dour to cut the head off the Legion itself, and in that moment, the Gods will look down and see Skyrim as she was meant to be: full of Nords who are mighty, powerful and free!"

Their cheers rang out again, unanimous in their resolve to liberate Skyrim from the Empire. Ulfric met her gaze again, his fierce eyes cutting straight into her heart and then he called out, "Ready now! Everyone with me! For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

Ulfric charged forward with his sword held high, and as a single unit the Stormcloaks rolled with him like thunder, breaking through the gates of Solitude and diving into battle. Luthien had been summoning her magicka while he spoke, preparing to protect herself and her child, and she could feel that protection swarming around her like a warm cloak as she met with her first enemy just beyond the gates. She swung the Axe of Eastmarch strong, battering the man who fought her to the ground and trampling over his dead body to rejoin her brothers and sisters in combat.

Over the din of battle, armor rushing against armor, metal cleaving flesh and thunking through bone as screams rang through the night, she heard Ulfric's laughter as he cried out, "Wake me up when you're ready to fight!"

She spied him up ahead, he and Galmar fighting back to back, the old man joining in Ulfric's laughter as he brought down his axe and cried, "I eat Legionnaires like you for breakfast!"

"Should I close my eyes to give you better odds?" Ulfric bellowed. "Come at me like a man and let Sovngarde take you."

And then for a while she lost them in the melee, the smoke and ash drifting across her vision as Solitude burned around her. She broke through her enemies, renewing her magicka whenever the moment presented itself and then lowering the Dragonhide spell over her body before charging ahead. She came across Ulfric again, kneeling on the ground catching his breath and fear coursed through her.

Gulping down a potion, she held her healing hands out to him and he quickly rose to his feet, shaking off the stun of battle and meeting her gaze. He charged through her, bringing down two Imperials that had been coming up behind her and then gesturing with a nod toward the barrier over the courtyard. She rushed ahead, hacking her way through the wooden horses that barred their way, and behind her Galmar and Ulfric flew into the courtyard with a fleet of Imperial enemies at their back.

But the Stormcloak forces were still strong, and they met with that enemy, holding them back as she, Ulfric and Galmar battered their way to the door of Castle Dour. They stood back while she picked the lock, fighting off Imperial arrow fire, shielding her back and calling taunts to the enemies until she forced the lock and opened the doors to the castle, the three of them pushing through.

"Lock that door, Galmar," Ulfric called over his shoulder as he stalked down the hallway, swiping his sword swiftly through the guard that ran out to meet him. The man fell with a groan, his blood spilling out to stain the carpet and stone red beneath him his crumpled form.

"Ulfric, stop," a female voice called out from the end of the hall.

He paused, resting his hand on his hip. "Stop what? Taking Skyrim back from those who would leave her to rot?"

"You're wrong, Ulfric. We need the Empire. Without it, Skyrim will surely fall to the Dominion." Over Galmar's shoulder, she saw the woman he spoke to, a Nord with her braids holding the golden hair back from her long face and eyes glistening with just as much righteousness as they had brought with them into the castle.

"You were there with us, Rikke," Galmar moved toward her. "You saw it. The day the Empire signed that damn treaty was the day the Empire died."

"You're a damn fool, both of you."

Galmar reached out for her shoulder, "Stand aside, woman. We've come for the General."

"He has given up, but I have not," she glanced back over her shoulder at the old man behind her, and Luthien's gaze followed. General Tullius sat defeated on the bench in the shadows, she recognized him immediately and felt the force of her righteous anger reignite inside her. That man had nearly put her to death once, and today she would thank him for that with her blade.

"Rikke," Ulfric appealed to her, an uncommon softness in his voice as if she was an old friend he didn't want to have to kill. "Go. You're free to leave."

"I'm also free to stay and fight for what I believe in," she crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to move.

He drew his blade again, blood still dripping down its sharp, ebony length. "You are also free to die for it."

"This is what you wanted, Ulfric? Shield-brothers and sisters killing each other?" There was such sadness in her face, it broke Luthien's heart, but there was nothing she could do. Ulfric was on the threshold of everything he'd wanted, and no one was going to stand in his way, not even a woman he'd once fought beside when he'd been a Legionnaire himself. "Families torn apart? This is the Skyrim you want?"

"Dammit woman!" Galmar growled, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. "Stand aside."

"That is not the Skyrim I want to live in." Rikke drew her sword.

"Rikke, you don't have to do this," Ulfric said softly, his hand reaching out to her.

But she did have to do it, and when she charged with her blade drawn, Ulfric deflected the blow and staggered her backward. General Tullius rose from his seat and the fighting began. She didn't see what happened to Rikke, only heard Ulfric call out, "You call yourself a warrior," before charging in to bash her with his axe. Luthien set her sights on Tullius, beating him back with Galmar beside her until he was broken and bloodied on the floor with his arm up calling out surrender.

"Enough! Enough already."

Ulfric stole in behind her, his shadow laying across the prostrate general like a cloak. "This is it for you. Any last words before I send you to Oblivion, old man?"

"You realize this is exactly what they wanted?"

"What who wanted?" Galmar cropped up on her right, his war axe still dripping with blood that spattered to the floor in little droplets at her feet.

"The Thalmor," Tullius gasped for breath. "They stirred up trouble here. Forced us to divert much needed resources and throw away good soldiers quelling this rebellion?"

"It's a little more than a rebellion, don't you think?" Ulfric wagered.

"We aren't the bad guys, you know?"

"Maybe not, but you certainly aren't the good guys."

"Perhaps you're right, but then what does that make you?" Tullius challenged, coughing as blood flecked his lips.

"You just said it yourself." Ulfric stepped back to look at him, the man who had taunted him, haunted his dreams during the seemingly endless years of a war that could have just as easily claimed one and not the other.

"It makes us right," Galmar barked, righteously swaying where he stood.

"And if I surrender?" General Tullius asked, looking to Luthien for mercy.

Ulfric spat on the floor again. "The Empire I remember never surrendered."

"That Empire is dead," Galmar said, looming in closer to the General, "and so are you."

"So be it," Tullius gave into defeat.

"Just kill him and let's be done with it already!" Galmar shouted.

"Come, Galmar," Ulfric leaned back, a cruelty in him then that made Luthien shudder. It was the man she'd told herself couldn't possibly live inside him, the Bear of Markharth, the keeper of the Grey Quarter, and in that moment his eyes burned so dark with hate it frightened her. But she knew in her heart that were their roles reversed, Tullius wouldn't have granted Ulfric mercy. He would have gladly taken his head and stuck it on a pike in Cyrodiil—a warning to any who dared take up arms against the Empire. "Where's your sense of the dramatic moment?"

"By the gods," Galmar roared. "If it's a good ending to some damn story you're after, perhaps the Dragonborn should be the one to do it."

"Good point," Ulfric nodded. "My queen? What say you? Do you want the honor?"

"That honor should be yours." She knew she had nothing left to prove to Ulfric, so she shook her head and stepped back, lowering her axe. "I've shed enough blood today, my lord."

"So be it." Ulfric hovered over Tullius a long time, as if he were truly weighing the deed he was about to commit in his heart. Luthien noticed then his hand was shaking, not enough for Galmar to notice, but she noticed. Was it sadness, fury, conviction? She would probably never know. She didn't feel brave enough to ask him.

When he brought down his axe, General Tullius writhed in pain until he wrenched it free, and then he went still, a pool of red puddling beneath him as his dead eyes stared straight at her.

Had she expected the weight of the world to lift from her shoulders then? The grief of all her losses to the Empire to lift away and set her free? If that was what she'd been waiting for, it never came. Ulfric dropped his axe into his belt and stretched his arms behind him.

"Good, it's done," Galmar did the same.

"Well," Ulfric stepped up beside her, his heavy arm dropping across her shoulders. "I suppose some kind of speech is in order."

"I'll go gather the men in the courtyard," Galmar conceded.

"And Elisif?"

"Don't you worry. I've sent my best men to round her up."

Ulfric nodded. "Now then, the men will expect a speech. At last I can honor you as my wife, Dragonborn, and the truest of Stormcloaks. Will you stand with me?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Very good. The people await us." As they made their way toward the door, Ulfric reached down and took her hand, his strong fingers curling around hers and squeezing.


	27. Chapter 27

She hadn't meant to fall asleep in the chair beside his bed, but when she woke the panic gripped her to find it empty and she jolted from her seat, the blanket that had covered her dropping to the floor and nearly tripping her. The guard outside the door smiled at her when she passed him, nodding toward the dining hall where the soldiers had gathered for breakfast.

As soon as she saw him, she broke into a sprint, nearly tackling him as she threw her arms around him and squeezed so tight he winced. Backing up to look at him, she drew back her fist and hammered it hard into his arm, swearing at him as she punched.

"If you ever scare me like that again, I'll… I'll perform the Dark Sacrament. Do you hear me?"

Laughing, he gathered her against him, holding her close and promising he would never almost die on her as long as they lived. As they walked outside together, the cold wind moving between their linked arms, Luthien felt some of the heaviness in her heart lighten, but it was still hard for her to breathe. She'd almost lost him. What would she do without Farkas in her life?

"It felt like what happened with Vilkas all over again," she said distantly. "My magicka was weak because I had to protect myself more than I normally do, and I didn't know if I could save you."

"But you did save me," he nudged into her. "And I owe you for that."

"You owe me nothing. I'm your shield-sister. I'm sworn to protect you."

"And I you, but… I'm not going to Solitude with you, Lu."

She didn't know why, but that news actually relieved her. They were stronger together in battle, but that had been against much smaller numbers. At war, they were divided, separated and it was harder to look out for each other when you couldn't even find one another among the haggard faces on the field.

"Galmar says I'm to stay here on light duty, help restore the fort and clean things up. I'm not happy about it, but…"

"But it's good. There is no one in this world I'd rather have at my back, Farkas, but I can't lose you too. You're weakened right now, and I might not be there next time to heal you."

"I'm disappointed I won't be there when you win the war," he admitted. "I won't get to celebrate with the others when you drive back the Empire and Ulfric names you his queen."

"You've already heard Ulfric name me his queen," she shrugged. "You won't be missing anything."

"Maybe not, but I still wish I was going with you. Someone's gotta watch your back, protect you and that baby you're carrying around." When she leaned out to look at him, eyes squinting, he shook his head. "I may not be the smartest man alive, but I'm not entirely stupid. I started to put two and two together after Fort Snowhawk, but what I still don't understand is why Ulfric hasn't locked you up in Windhelm, where you belong. You shouldn't be charging into battle in your condition."

"Ulfric doesn't know." She lifted a hand into her hair, smoothing it back from her face before the wind could sweep it back in again. "And I'm not telling him until the war is over."

"Do you think that's really a good idea? If something happens to you…"

"We'll be fine," she assured him. "That spell I was using, the one that drained my magicka, it protects us both."

"Then you better make sure you have more than enough damn potions in that bag of yours. I get the feeling Ulfric would destroy more than just the Empire if anything happened to you and his unborn child."

"I'll restock before I go. I promise."

He relented, though she could still see doubt in his eyes when he gave in. "I still think you should have told him."

"It's too late for that now."

"Maybe. Maybe I should tell Galmar to keep you here on light duty so you can clean up the mess we made here." As she started to draw her fist back, he ducked to the side laughing. "All right, all right. I'll keep my mouth shut, but you promise me you'll come back from this in one piece. You and that baby."

"We've got dragon's blood in our veins," she smiled softly. "We will be fine."

"You damn well better be."

She realized as Galmar rallied the troops to follow him to Solitude, it was the first time she would be going into a fight without Farkas in years. They'd watched each other's backs so long, she couldn't imagine a battle where he wasn't somewhere behind her wreaking havoc on their enemy to protect her. She glanced back over her shoulder one last time and saw him standing at the gate, watching them leave, his face long with sorrow as if he truly feared it would be the last time they saw one another.

The road to Solitude thundered under the force of Stormcloak boots, marching to death and war with Ulfric's banners flying high, cracking as it rippled in the wind. He would be there with them, for the final battle, and together they would fight side by side to rid Skyrim of the Empire once and for all. From the side of her bear helm, she glimpsed Galmar staring ahead and wondered what he was thinking. As if he felt her gaze, he turned to look at her and smiled.

"No matter what happens in Solitude today, girl, we will be heroes."

She nodded, remembering a day not so long ago when they'd stood face to face for the first time. He hadn't thought much of her that day, but she'd come a long way to prove herself. None could ever say she'd won anyone's respect because of her place in Ulfric's heart. She'd proven her honor and courage, her ferocity and her love for Skyrim to them all.

They were met by cannon fire, flames lapping at the crumbled stone walls around Solitude where Ulfric and his men gathered for the final battle. They marched in to join them, falling into ranks before them. He looked up when he saw them, his gaze passing over her briefly, a light flaring in his eyes before he looked away and lifted his sword to rally the men one last time. It took everything inside her not to run into his arms and kiss him as if it would be the last kiss they ever shared.

"This is it, men. It's time to make this city ours. We come to this moment carried by the sacrifices and courage of our fellows. Of those who have fallen and those still bearing the shields to our right. On this day, our enemy will know the fullness of our determination, the true depth of our anger and the exulted righteousness of our cause. The gods are watching. The spirits of our ancestors are stirring and men under suns yet to dawn will be transformed by what we do here today. Fear neither pain, nor darkness, for Sovngarde waits for those who die with weapons in their hands and courage in their hearts."

The men at her back bellowed in righteous anger and agreement, some of them crying out for Ulfric, others for Sovngarde and others still calling out their love for Skyrim. She knew not how many of them would have that call answered on that day, but they would die knowing they'd followed their hearts and that was all that mattered.

"We now fight our way to Castle Dour to cut the head off the Legion itself, and in that moment, the Gods will look down and see Skyrim as she was meant to be: full of Nords who are mighty, powerful and free!"

Their cheers rang out again, unanimous in their resolve to liberate Skyrim from the Empire. Ulfric met her gaze again, his fierce eyes cutting straight into her heart and then he called out, "Ready now! Everyone with me! For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

Ulfric charged forward with his sword held high, and as a single unit the Stormcloaks rolled with him like thunder, breaking through the gates of Solitude and diving into battle. Luthien had been summoning her magicka while he spoke, preparing to protect herself and her child, and she could feel that protection swarming around her like a warm cloak as she met with her first enemy just beyond the gates. She swung the Axe of Eastmarch strong, battering the man who fought her to the ground and trampling over his dead body to rejoin her brothers and sisters in combat.

Over the din of battle, armor rushing against armor, metal cleaving flesh and thunking through bone as screams rang through the night, she heard Ulfric's laughter as he cried out, "Wake me up when you're ready to fight!"

She spied him up ahead, he and Galmar fighting back to back, the old man joining in Ulfric's laughter as he brought down his axe and cried, "I eat Legionnaires like you for breakfast!"

"Should I close my eyes to give you better odds?" Ulfric bellowed. "Come at me like a man and let Sovngarde take you."

And then for a while she lost them in the melee, the smoke and ash drifting across her vision as Solitude burned around her. She broke through her enemies, renewing her magicka whenever the moment presented itself and then lowering the Dragonhide spell over her body before charging ahead. She came across Ulfric again, kneeling on the ground catching his breath and fear coursed through her.

Gulping down a potion, she held her healing hands out to him and he quickly rose to his feet, shaking off the stun of battle and meeting her gaze. He charged through her, bringing down two Imperials that had been coming up behind her and then gesturing with a nod toward the barrier over the courtyard. She rushed ahead, hacking her way through the wooden horses that barred their way, and behind her Galmar and Ulfric flew into the courtyard with a fleet of Imperial enemies at their back.

But the Stormcloak forces were still strong, and they met with that enemy, holding them back as she, Ulfric and Galmar battered their way to the door of Castle Dour. They stood back while she picked the lock, fighting off Imperial arrow fire, shielding her back and calling taunts to the enemies until she forced the lock and opened the doors to the castle, the three of them pushing through.

"Lock that door, Galmar," Ulfric called over his shoulder as he stalked down the hallway, swiping his sword swiftly through the guard that ran out to meet him. The man fell with a groan, his blood spilling out to stain the carpet and stone red beneath him his crumpled form.

"Ulfric, stop," a female voice called out from the end of the hall.

He paused, resting his hand on his hip. "Stop what? Taking Skyrim back from those who would leave her to rot?"

"You're wrong, Ulfric. We need the Empire. Without it, Skyrim will surely fall to the Dominion." Over Galmar's shoulder, she saw the woman he spoke to, a Nord with her braids holding the golden hair back from her long face and eyes glistening with just as much righteousness as they had brought with them into the castle.

"You were there with us, Rikke," Galmar moved toward her. "You saw it. The day the Empire signed that damn treaty was the day the Empire died."

"You're a damn fool, both of you."

Galmar reached out for her shoulder, "Stand aside, woman. We've come for the General."

"He has given up, but I have not," she glanced back over her shoulder at the old man behind her, and Luthien's gaze followed. General Tullius sat defeated on the bench in the shadows, she recognized him immediately and felt the force of her righteous anger reignite inside her. That man had nearly put her to death once, and today she would thank him for that with her blade.

"Rikke," Ulfric appealed to her, an uncommon softness in his voice as if she was an old friend he didn't want to have to kill. "Go. You're free to leave."

"I'm also free to stay and fight for what I believe in," she crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to move.

He drew his blade again, blood still dripping down its sharp, ebony length. "You are also free to die for it."

"This is what you wanted, Ulfric? Shield-brothers and sisters killing each other?" There was such sadness in her face, it broke Luthien's heart, but there was nothing she could do. Ulfric was on the threshold of everything he'd wanted, and no one was going to stand in his way, not even a woman he'd once fought beside when he'd been a Legionnaire himself. "Families torn apart? This is the Skyrim you want?"

"Dammit woman!" Galmar growled, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. "Stand aside."

"That is not the Skyrim I want to live in." Rikke drew her sword.

"Rikke, you don't have to do this," Ulfric said softly, his hand reaching out to her.

But she did have to do it, and when she charged with her blade drawn, Ulfric deflected the blow and staggered her backward. General Tullius rose from his seat and the fighting began. She didn't see what happened to Rikke, only heard Ulfric call out, "You call yourself a warrior," before charging in to bash her with his axe. Luthien set her sights on Tullius, beating him back with Galmar beside her until he was broken and bloodied on the floor with his arm up calling out surrender.

"Enough! Enough already."

Ulfric stole in behind her, his shadow laying across the prostrate general like a cloak. "This is it for you. Any last words before I send you to Oblivion, old man?"

"You realize this is exactly what they wanted?"

"What who wanted?" Galmar cropped up on her right, his war axe still dripping with blood that spattered to the floor in little droplets at her feet.

"The Thalmor," Tullius gasped for breath. "They stirred up trouble here. Forced us to divert much needed resources and throw away good soldiers quelling this rebellion?"

"It's a little more than a rebellion, don't you think?" Ulfric wagered.

"We aren't the bad guys, you know?"

"Maybe not, but you certainly aren't the good guys."

"Perhaps you're right, but then what does that make you?" Tullius challenged, coughing as blood flecked his lips.

"You just said it yourself." Ulfric stepped back to look at him, the man who had taunted him, haunted his dreams during the seemingly endless years of a war that could have just as easily claimed one and not the other.

"It makes us right," Galmar barked, righteously swaying where he stood.

"And if I surrender?" General Tullius asked, looking to Luthien for mercy.

Ulfric spat on the floor again. "The Empire I remember never surrendered."

"That Empire is dead," Galmar said, looming in closer to the General, "and so are you."

"So be it," Tullius gave into defeat.

"Just kill him and let's be done with it already!" Galmar shouted.

"Come, Galmar," Ulfric leaned back, a cruelty in him then that made Luthien shudder. It was the man she'd told herself couldn't possibly live inside him, the Bear of Markharth, the keeper of the Grey Quarter, and in that moment his eyes burned so dark with hate it frightened her. But she knew in her heart that were their roles reversed, Tullius wouldn't have granted Ulfric mercy. He would have gladly taken his head and stuck it on a pike in Cyrodiil—a warning to any who dared take up arms against the Empire. "Where's your sense of the dramatic moment?"

"By the gods," Galmar roared. "If it's a good ending to some damn story you're after, perhaps the Dragonborn should be the one to do it."

"Good point," Ulfric nodded. "My queen? What say you? Do you want the honor?"

"That honor should be yours." She knew she had nothing left to prove to Ulfric, so she shook her head and stepped back, lowering her axe. "I've shed enough blood today, my lord."

"So be it." Ulfric hovered over Tullius a long time, as if he were truly weighing the deed he was about to commit in his heart. Luthien noticed then his hand was shaking, not enough for Galmar to notice, but she noticed. Was it sadness, fury, conviction? She would probably never know. She didn't feel brave enough to ask him.

When he brought down his axe, General Tullius writhed in pain until he wrenched it free, and then he went still, a pool of red puddling beneath him as his dead eyes stared straight at her.

Had she expected the weight of the world to lift from her shoulders then? The grief of all her losses to the Empire to lift away and set her free? If that was what she'd been waiting for, it never came. Ulfric dropped his axe into his belt and stretched his arms behind him.

"Good, it's done," Galmar did the same.

"Well," Ulfric stepped up beside her, his heavy arm dropping across her shoulders. "I suppose some kind of speech is in order."

"I'll go gather the men in the courtyard," Galmar conceded.

"And Elisif?"

"Don't you worry. I've sent my best men to round her up."

Ulfric nodded. "Now then, the men will expect a speech. At last I can honor you as my wife, Dragonborn, and the truest of Stormcloaks. Will you stand with me?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Very good. The people await us." As they made their way toward the door, Ulfric reached down and took her hand, his strong fingers curling around hers and squeezing.


	28. Chapter 28

Smoke still lingered in the air like a thick haze, billowing in the wavering wind across the faces of Ulfric's weary men and women. Their numbers were still strong, but they had lost a lot of good men in the battle for Solitude. Galmar would have to work tirelessly to restore their ranks for the inevitable waves of Thalmor that would surely begin to pour into Skyrim to try and replant the Empire.

Ulfric was still holding her hand as the survivors gathered around them, and when he lifted their hands together, the soldiers cheered. "Ulfric!" the cried, and "Skyrim!" and "Victory is ours."

"I am indeed Ulfric Stormcloak, and the woman at my side you know as Stormblade and the world knows as the Dragonborn. She is not only the truest of Stormcloaks, but also my wife, and has fought savagely among you all to bring peace and freedom to Skyrim. And indeed, there are many who call us heroes, but it is all of you who are the true heroes on this day! It was you who fought a dying Empire that sunk its claws into our land, trying to drag us down with it. It was you who fought the Thalmor and their puppets who would have us deny our gods and our heritage. It was you who fought against your own kin, who didn't understand our cause and weren't willing to pay the price for our freedom, but more than that, it was you who fought for Skyrim, for our right to fight our own battles. To return to our glory and traditions, to determine our own future!"

The soldiers railed with joy, their united voices clawing at the silence like hungry wolves.

"And it is for these reasons that I cannot accept the mantle of High King."

Those words stunned everyone in the courtyard, including Luthien, who shot her gaze left in surprise, her mouth opening with disbelief. Ulfric let them murmur among themselves for what felt like an eternity, some of them asking if it was all for nothing, others muttering that he was truly noble and deserving of his crown.

"Not until the moot declares that title should adorn my shoulders, will I accept it."

Their voices raised in a clamor, some of them begging to know what they'd been fighting for and another calling out, "And what about Jarl Elisif?"

"Yes," Ulfric nodded, scanning their faces. "What about the lady Elisif? Will she put aside her hatred for me and her misplaced love for the Emperor and his coin so that the suffering of our people will end? Will she acknowledge that it is we Nords who will determine Skyrim's future? Will she swear fealty to me, so that all may know we are at peace and a new day has dawned?"

Her small voice rose from the right tower, and Luthien glanced upward through the smoke to see the delicate, fair woman in the window. "I do."

"Then it is settled. The Jarl will continue to rule Solitude, and I will garrison soldiers here to ward off any Imperial attempts to reclaim the city. And in due time, the Moot will meet to settle the claim to High King once and for all. There is much to do here, and I need every able bodied man and woman committed to rebuilding Skyrim. A great darkness is coming and soon we will be called to fight it, on these shores, or abroad. The Aldmeri Dominion may have defeated the Empire, by they have not defeated Skyrim!"

Their cheers and conviction lifted once more, echoing off the walls of the courtyard and reverberating back at them with dizzying effect. As the soldiers began to branch off, Ulfric turned in to Galmar and Luthien and smiled.

"How'd I do?"

"Eh, not so bad," Galmar laughed, the gruff sound scraping through his throat as he shook his head. "Nice touch about the High King."

"Thank you," he nodded. "I thought so too."

"It's a foregone conclusion, you know."

"Oh," Ulfric was still smiling. "I know."

"The Imperials are not going to leave us alone. They still have camps in the hills."

"Indeed, they do, and we will root them out, one by one until our land is clean of their stench, but it is not the Empire I fear. I worry that our victory here today will draw the Thalmor attention to these shores. We must be ready. But not tonight. Tonight, I am weary and for the first time in years I am truly hungry, Galmar. I wish to feast with my men and raise cups to our victory here today."

"Of course, my lord," Galmar conceded.

"Woman," he turned to her. "Let us feast."

The feasting went on for hours, Ulfric milling among his men, Luthien at his side for the first time as his honored wife. It felt strange not wearing her armor, the billowy gown Elisif had gifted to her in a gesture of peace and friendship making her feel almost naked, but not near as bare as she felt without an axe strapped to her back. Even worse was that as she smoothed it down over her waist after putting it on and stepped back to look in the mirror, the slight swell of her once slender belly was growing more visible and it was a wonder no one else had noticed.

She mingled on Ulfric's arm, accepting congratulations from all who came to meet them, and listening to him tell stories of battles lost and won, great heroes who had risen and fallen under Imperial tyranny and of course, the love of two heroes that had to be hidden from an Empire who would have surely torn them apart. Whenever he spoke of her, he lowered his heavy arm over her shoulder and drew her near, proud to show off his new wife, the Dragonborn.

It was all very tiring, and though she was in no mood to continue playing the gracious role of someday queen, she had no choice. It was her place now and forever; she had sworn before Mara and her priest to stand beside Ulfric for the rest of her days and beyond.

She was grateful when she looked up and saw Farkas moving through the crowd, looking strong again as he approached.

"Brother," she embraced him, her arms so tight around him she swore she could have broken him in half with the strength of her love.

"Wow," he stepped back to look at her. "I don't think I've ever seen you in real clothes. You look… wow."

She ignored the widening of his eyes, the flicker of regret she saw in them, and then he smiled as Ulfric approached, embracing the man as his brother and clapping him hard on the back as he withdrew to offer him his hand in true friendship.

"Your presence in battle was sorely missed, but I am happy to see you're on your feet again, brother. Luthien was worried for you, and so I was I."

"I'll be fine after a long nap."

"I think we could all use a good long nap." Ulfric laughed. "And as much as I would like to take one, I don't see rest anywhere in my future."

"So, should I call you High King now?"

"No," Ulfric chuckled again, a hint of begrudging in his voice. "Not yet, not until the Moot meets and names me so, but that doesn't mean I won't start acting like it."

"Spoken like a true king."

"Farkas, when we return to Eastmarch, I would like you to come with us. I want to offer you a place in my court as my thane. There is property there for you to purchase so you'll always be near us. I have a feeling my wife would be miserable without her dear brother close at hand. "

Luthien felt her lips twitch with a smile, remembering their conversations not so long ago about titles and land and concubines.

"I would be honored to serve you, my lord," Farkas bowed to him.

"The honor would be mine."

"Ulfric," someone called from across the room. "Tell us how you defeated General Tullius again."

"I've already told you," he chuckled, drawing his arm away from the small of Luthien's back. "But I can tell you again."

"Ulfric," she reached for his wrist. "I am weary."

"As am I," he agreed. "I don't think they will let me leave their company so soon. There are stories to tell and mead by the barrel. You go on ahead. I will find our bed before dawn." Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her forehead and brushed the hair from her cheek.

She stood next to Farkas, watching him disappear into the crowd of his people, the smile slowly fading from her lips.

"He still doesn't know?" Farkas asked.

"I'll tell him when he comes to bed," she sighed. "_If_ he comes to bed. That man can tell stories like no bard I've ever heard. I'll probably find him with his face down in his tankard at dawn whispering of his victory to the empty chairs."

"His people love the sound of his voice," Farkas followed her to the stairs.

"So do I, but I won't lie. I will be grateful when all this is over. I mean really over, and we can just go back to Windhelm and start our life."

"I'll bet. So, you're all right then? You and the… you know?"

"We're strong," she nodded. "Just tired."

"Then I will let you rest. I just wanted to see you, you know, make sure you were okay."

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too. Look, I hope you can explain to Ulfric, but I'm not going right back to Windhelm with you. I heard from Aela. She's got a lead on Lydia and I want to head out to see if I can find her, bring her back to us."

"Is she all right? Do you need me to come along?"

"Don't worry. I'll find her," he promised. "And I'll bring her home. You get some rest. You look tired."

She nodded, her brow furrowed with worry. She reached for him, drawing him into her arms again and holding him close. "Be careful out there. Send word if you need me."

"Will do." His arms tightened around her, and for a moment as he rested his head atop hers, she swore he was breathing in her scent so he wouldn't forget her when they were apart. "Take care of yourself. And tell that husband of yours I know a good locksmith if he does decide to lock you up in that tower of his."

She didn't want to draw away from him. She felt afraid then; now that the war was over and Vilkas was avenged in his heart, he would leave her and never come back. Even if he couldn't find Lydia, what if he kept wandering until he got lost and never made his way home to her?

"Promise you'll come back to me," she leaned back, lifting her eyes to meet with his. "Ulfric is right. I can't live without you, Farkas."

Farkas nodded slowly, lifting his hand to move a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers lingered there, just near her cheek, and though he did not touch her, she could feel him. "I'll always come back to you, Lu. You are my family. You're home."

Those words lingered with her, long after he was gone. After everything they'd been through together, everything they'd seen and done, she knew his heart was still broken inside him. Home had been Vilkas, and Vilkas was gone. She had found the strength to move on, even through the war and the pain she'd found love again, but Farkas would never have another brother, and try as she might to fill his emptiness, she knew in her heart she could never be what Farkas wanted her to be.

As she laid alone in the darkness, she could hear the boisterous rumblings of Ulfric and Galmar's drunken laughter at the feast below as they told and retold of their victory over the Empire. In the months she'd known him, she'd never heard him laugh with such true merriment, and though it should have comforted her to hear her husband in such good spirits after so many long years of brooding and sorrow, Luthien herself had never felt more alone.

Ulfric had won his war, but would he keep good on his promises of helping her win hers? How long would it be before the Thalmor drew him away from her and made her a widow again?

And then she remembered, she was not alone. Her hand slid down over her stomach, fingertips tingling as if she could feel the life growing inside her. She felt it flutter within, as if in answer to her touch and tears of joy spilled down her cheeks. She held her hand there, and though she couldn't feel it with her fingers, it was there, rippling like a single drop of water on a still pond. _I am here with you_, it seemed to say. _I love you._

She fell asleep, content in knowing that there truly was life growing inside her and did not wake until Ulfric's naked warmth slid in against her back, his arms circling around her to pull her in tighter, clumsy, drunken fingers working the ties of her sleeping gown.

"Woman," he whispered, his hungry kisses trailing across the back of her neck and shoulder. "I am cold and I long for your warmth." She turned into him, untying the fabric that kept their bodies apart and placating his hunger with sweetness until his eager caresses grew gentle and soft. He stroked her face, looking across the pillows at her in the dark.

"Do you love me, Ulfric?" she breathed against his ear, her lips following the trail of her breath and making him shudder in her arms as he drew her leg over his hip and entered her slowly.

"Yes," he murmured, drawing his hips back with that same, slow movement before driving into her again. "You are the heart of my heart."

"Show me," she begged. "Speak to my heart."

His long fingers crawled into her hair, clenching to draw her head back to expose her neck. His suckling kisses traveled along the curve until he came to her ear, his long exhale sending chills through her as he whispered, "I love you."

She turned into his mouth, lips moving across his, their soft tongues dancing together as he pushed her onto her back and came in hard from above. The life inside her stirred, that soft fluttering tickling her from within, and she reached her hands up to push on his shoulders, lifting herself upward to stop him.

"Gentle," she pleaded.

"I'm not in the mood to be gentle," he growled, playfully nipping at her bottom lip as he drove down hard again, making her gasp.

"Please, Ulfric," she murmured across his lips. "Gentle, or you'll hurt the baby."

As he pulled back, she could see his face in the firelight, his eyes warm and smiling as he tilted his head in question. "What is this? A joke?"

"Not a joke," she said. "I am carrying your son, Ulfric."

"My son?" His voice was soft.

"Your son, Ulfric, he grows strong inside me."

"How…" he stammered, drawing from her and falling into bed beside her. "How long have you known?"

"Since just before the battle at Fort Snowhawk."

"You… you went into battle…" He stopped himself, drawing in a deep breath through his nose, his chest expanding as he held it in for a silence so long it started to scare her. And then as he exhaled, he started to laugh, a deep belly laugh that echoed through the quiet room. "Only a Nord woman goes to war with her husband's son in her belly." She'd never heard so much pride in his voice. He rolled onto his side again and kissed her cheek, her lips.

"Are you angry with me?"

"Angry?" he laughed again. "Woman, I'm furious and yet I've never felt such joy. I could kiss you."

She lifted her kiss to meet his. "Then kiss me, my king."

It was dawn before the long night of victory, celebration and drinking caught up with Ulfric, and though he lay on the pillow with his eyes closed, the excitement still beamed in his tired smile as he lifted his fingers to caress her cheek.

"I have not forgotten my promise to you, heart of my heart," he said quietly. "This war is over, and we can count on the Thalmor striking back hard when we least expect it, but we _should_ turn our attention to the dragons now."

"Will you still come with me?"

"Aye," he buried his head deeper into the pillow. "I will follow you into the depths of Oblivion if that's where we have to go."

"Let's hope not." She shivered, but not because she was cold, though Ulfric pulled her into his arms and held her. "We have a child to think of now."

Ulfric's hand slid down the curve of her waist, over the small swell of her tightened belly, palm gently resting over the place where his seed had taken root inside her. "My son," he whispered so fiercely, her heart felt tight in her chest. "We will do whatever we must to protect him."

"Yes," she agreed. "To protect him and all the children of Skyrim."

"They are all our children now, my queen."

His voice grew quiet and his breath heavy, and it wasn't long before he slept. With his strong hand nestled over her belly, Luthien closed her eyes and for the first time in months exhaustion finally claimed her and she didn't dream. She only slept, the long sleep of a weary hero who knew the darkness was edging closer to her door and soon she would have no choice but to answer.

A/N: Thank you for reading Riding the Storm. I will begin posting chapters of the sequel, The Dragon Queen, shortly, but if you don't wish to wait feel free to drop by my website (linked on my author profile page,) where the story is posted in its entirety.


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